


with or without you

by theonlytraveler



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bev and Eddie friendship, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Pining, radio talk show host Eddie, recovering alcoholic eddie, smut to come, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 33,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14227218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlytraveler/pseuds/theonlytraveler
Summary: Some ten feet or so away a man is stopped in his tracks, a path leading directly to Eddie, eyes going wide as his brows crawl up his forehead, disappearing under the curls that hang gently over his eyes.  And his eyes- dark and becoming, framed by black glasses adorned with thick lenses that make Eddie pause, his grip on the bottle slackening as those eyes lock with his own.  A dam bursts open somewhere inside him, his heart jolting in his chest, his fingers closing in to fists that plant themselves on the surface of the bar.  There's a tug deep in his chest, a tug that pulls him from his seat.  He stands on unsteady legs, his mouth falling open in unbelievable recognition.It's him.It's HIM.The name falls from Eddie's lips as the man approaches, a little breathless, a lot lost and uncertain.  "Richie...?"





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is going to be a short (ish?) fic based on a prompt I received on tumblr. Three parts, all bibles, quick and messy.  
> LOL yeah right I take 89 years to write anything.  
> Hope you guys like this.  
> PS: It is a disaster.

 The booth is warm and comfortable, a steady flow of hot air brushing over the back of Eddie’s neck, the loose hairs at the nape lifting and tickling his skin.  The lull of the afternoon pulls his shoulders down, causing them to slump as he sits with his head resting in his palm, elbow planted firmly on the table.  A quick glance at the clock tells him he’s got about twenty minutes left, and he shoots a glare at the bright, _On Air_ sign, glowing mockingly just to the left of it.  The show runs from eight to two, and he’s only got a couple more callers to get through. 

"… _if my mom can't accept my girlfriend then I don't want a relationship with her.  But I know she's going to try and manipulate me.  She does it every time I go back home.  Summer break, winter break- it never ends.  And she's convinced if I just meet the right guy I'll change my mind_." 

Though he’s exhausted, Eddie hangs on to every word the caller is saying, nodding along as though she can see him as he irritably adjusts his tight headphones.  It’s Friday, the “Let’s Get Serious” day, and he’s already feeling the weight of each desperate call piling on his back, one on top of the other, from calls about the upcoming holidays to finals and the end of college semesters.  He’s been out of college himself for about three, going on four years, but he still remembers the stress that gripped his chest tightly, the sleepless nights of worry and desperate studying. 

"Have you thought about not going back?"  Bev, his closest friend and co-host, asks the caller from beside him.  "You don't have to put up with anything you don't want to.  Screw that." 

" _I have, but she always makes me feel so guilty_."

Eddie can understand that.  He’s twenty-nine, and it was only last year that he finally stood up to his overbearing, controlling mother, who has had a tight hold on his life and choices as far back as he can remember.  The woman is a master at breaking people down; nights of being chastised and belittled float through his mind, days of returning home from school to find his room had been ransacked and his personal things had been spied on follow the memory path.  It’s been a year since they’ve spoken a word to each other, which doesn’t bother him as much as it probably should.  

The call goes on for several more minutes, Eddie adding a few of his own thoughts before she goes.  "It's not easy at all.  But standing up to your family is _worth_ it."

The caller is quiet for a moment, then she asks, " _It can go wrong, though, right_?"   

"It might, yes.  That's very possible."  Eddie rubs at his eyes, lids growing heavy as afternoon exhaustion settles over him.  "But if you let them run your life now, they'll try to run your life forever." 

The caller thanks them at the end, voice choked, and Eddie cuts to commercial break as he takes another look at the clock.  Ten to two. 

“Don’t forget we have that Sushi thing tonight.” 

Eddie turns to his left, frowning at Bev as he rolls his sore shoulder.  “That’s _tonight_?” He grabs his phone off the table.  “I thought it was next week.” 

Bev sits up and pulls her headphones off, adjusting the band, running her free hand through the back of her short, flaming hair.  “What day do you think it is?” she asks, a little concerned.

Eddie distractedly pulls at his own headphones around his neck, checking the date on the screen: November tenth.  His birthday is next week.  “What the hell?  I thought it was the beginning of the month.” 

“You’re working too hard, hot shot,” she comments with a wink, then flaps her hand at him to hurry up.  “We’re still going together, right?  Or did you meet some _stud_ while I wasn’t looking?”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie sets his phone back down and slips his headphones on.  “No, I didn’t.  You’re still my date.” 

"And for the fundraiser at the club on Saturday?" 

Groaning, Eddie nods.  He forgot how busy this weekend is going to be.

Snorting, Bev hits the "On Air" switch just as the commercial comes to an end, starting off the last segment.  “Here we are back at KSDC on this depressing, rainy Friday afternoon.  I, personally, can't wait to get home and binge something sad.  And gay.  Hey, Eddie- you got any home videos I can watch?" 

"Screw you, Marsh,” Eddie retorts, slipping easily into their banter.

"HA!  You wish." 

"I really don't wish that at all." 

"Give me a _chance_ ," Bev wails into the microphone.  "My sweet, gay angel!" 

"No." 

"Ughh, you _suck_."  Bev pulls the script for the dinner reminder closer to her, sticking her tongue out at Eddie briefly.  "Now don't forget everyone, we're hosting the Sushi Slam fundraiser dinner at the Legion Hall in downtown Stockton _tonight_.  It's dressy casual- but listen to me, people of Stockton."

Eddie hides a smile.  "Here we go." 

"Do _not_ show up in some jank ass saggy jeans with your underwear hanging out, _gentlemen_.  I will _hurt_ you if I see this."   

"She really will," Eddie adds.  "I've seen it happen." 

"And Eddie here is _fabulously_ gay, which means he dresses very nicely, even when he forgets about our engagements.  And he _will_ help me smack you down."

Eddie narrows his eyes at her.  “Thanks, Bevvie, for calling me out as you always do.” 

She smiles sweetly.  “You’re welcome, dear.” 

Ignoring her, Eddie picks up where she left off.  “KSDC has teamed up with San Joaquin Delta College to raise funds for the San Joaquin Pride Center, a non-profit organization serving our LGBT community.  Tickets are still up on our website.  There's going to be more than just sushi and Japanese cuisine.”  He fakes a chipper tone.  “ _You’ll also get to dance_!” 

“And you’ll see _us_ ,” Bev sing-songs, returning a thumbs-up from their producer on the other side of the glass.  “And I’d like to apologize in advance for getting drunk and dancing.” 

Trying not to smile, Eddie adds, “I’ll protect the community from your traumatizing hip thrust.”

“But what if I wanna dance all over _you_?”

“Dear god- just don’t start doing the Dirty Dancing thing you do.  Like, do _not_ grind on me.” 

“But my _love_!”

“No.”

“ _Eddie_!” 

“Back, you heathen.”

" _Eddddiiieeeeee_."

Bev dissolves into laughter as Eddie turns to the phones, stifling his own chuckles.  “While Bevvie stops giggling like the psycho she is—”

She snorts into the microphone. 

“—we have time for one last call before we head off for our sad, pathetic lives this weekend.” 

“Hey,” Bev sobers a little, sitting up straight in her chair as she looks at him over the microphones between them.  “My life isn’t sad!  Speak for yourself, babe.” 

“Do you really think I’d speak for you?”

“You’re a man.  I’m sure you’d try.” 

“Bev!” 

“Ed!” 

Eddie can’t stop the giggle that bubbles up in his throat.  “Jesus— can we take the last caller now?  You know, do our _jobs_.”

“What job?  My job is to sit here and look pretty.” 

Looking over the phone lines, Eddie reaches out to answer the one waiting call.  “How do you still work here?” 

“I have friends in high places.” 

“What, like the King of Hell?”

“That would be my father.” 

"You're insufferable."

Bev sits back in her chair with her feet up on the desk, drags the adjustable microphone back to hover in front of her.  “Put ‘em on!” 

Smiling, Eddie shoves her shoes off the edge of the table and smothers his laughter as she nearly falls out of her chair.  He answers the line and addresses the caller.  "Not sure why you want any advice from this lunatic, but thanks for calling in.  What's your name?" 

A throat clears in Eddie's ears, and a deep voice speaks up.  " _Uh.  Hi.  I'm Kevin_." 

"Howdy, Kevin!"  Bev is sitting back up, scooting her chair up against the table.  "What can me and my very gay and single friend do for you?" 

Eddie suppresses an eye roll.  "Don’t worry, Kevin.  I'm about to shoot her full of tranquilizer.  You don't have to talk to her." 

"Try it, Kaspbrak," Bev growls playfully, elbowing him in the side.  "So Kevin, what's going on?"

Kevin chuckles a little, starts with praising the show and saying how much he loves the dynamic between them.  Eddie shares a simple smile with Bev.  They've been working together for a few years, and though they receive frequent compliments on the way they get along, it never gets old, and Eddie always feels grateful to be loved by the community.  It's a unique show, he likes to think.  He and Bev go back and forth, but they team up nicely to help the callers.  Listeners have commented multiple times that it's their easy going banter that makes them feel more comfortable calling in.

"Thank you very much," Eddie says, then moves on as he glances at the clock.  Six minutes left.  "What's on your mind?" 

" _Well, uh_ ," Kevin gives a breathy little laugh, then starts.  " _So I'm in love with my best friend.  He's uh-- we've been friends since, like, first grade.  We're in college now, and it's just, you know.  It's a lot to deal with_."

Eddie reads between the lines easily, sinking into the hurt hidden in Kevin's voice.  "Is he straight?" 

Kevin sighs.  " _Yeah, I'm pretty sure.  I mean, he's said stuff about guys before, but I've never seen him with one.  And, you know, he says stuff about me, too.  Like, he’s said I’m hot.  But uh, I need to know if what I want to do is... the right thing?  I guess?_ " 

Bev shifts a little in her chair.  "And what's that?" 

" _So, here's the thing_ ," Kevin pauses for a moment, and Eddie waits patiently.  " _I want to cut him out of my life.  For me.  Because being around him all the time is just… it’s like, it’s torture.  I feel guilty, though, ‘cause I've tried to back off and gradually stop talking to him, but he gets upset about it_."

"Upset how?"  Eddie brings his hands up and rests his chin over his palms, forcing the memories away from his mind itching at the back of his skull.  "Does he yell at you?" 

" _Kinda?  He gets mad.  He'll text me something like_ Why aren't you answering what the f dude _, or_ Did I piss you off what's going on quit being f-ing senstive _.  I'm the closest friend he has and he's got a lot of problems.  We've argued before and it can get pretty bad.  I'm just_."  Kevin sighs again, and Eddie lowers his eyes to the table in sympathy.  " _I'm tired of being sad all the time_." 

The damn memories fail to stay away, a young, bespectacled boy with a wide, toothy grin and dark curls forming in Eddie’s mind.  The boy flips his skateboard over and misses a landing in the park Eddie remembers loving as a kid; he smiles a little.  He can almost hear the boy's laughing voice in his head: _You laughing at me, Eds?  Get off your ass and do it, then!_

"That's really hard to deal with," Bev’s voice brings Eddie back into the moment, her blue eyes flitting quickly to him.  "Best friends are both the ideal _and_ worst people to fall in love with." 

" _Does it make me selfish that I want to cut him off_?"

"No," Eddie replies, firmly, folding his arms over the table as he goes on.  "You have to do what's best for _you_ in the long run.  It's okay to cut people out of your life for your own good.  You don't owe anyone anything." 

" _I know, but.  He's been in my life for so long.  I'm gonna miss him.  Even though our friendship's a joke right now, we've had a lot of good times.  I just wish I didn't feel this way."_

"Yes, I understand that," Eddie says, avoiding Bev's eyes as he speaks.  "But when the good isn't good enough to outweigh the bad, that's when you have to say enough is enough.  Do what you need to do for your own emotional and mental health." 

Kevin makes a frustrated noise.  Eddie braces himself for an outburst- it doesn’t happen often, but he's pretty good at rolling with it when it does.  " _It's so hard.”_ Kevin pauses, then goes on, voice filled with more pain than before. _“What if it's the wrong decision?  What if I regret it in the future?  I don’t want to look back and wish I hadn’t ended our friendship.  Maybe there’s another way?”_

Bev looks like she's going to say something, but Eddie taps her arm to stop her, words coming to him before he has a chance to think them over.  "You’re going to feel some regret, definitely.  It’s only natural.”  Eddie’s voice takes on a harder edge after a brief pause.  “But, if you focus too much on that one emotion, and choose his well-being over yours, you’ll come to regret that, too.  You think it hurts now?  Imagine a year from now, two, five- ten years from now.  Can you get over him in that amount of time?  You know, speaking from a similar experience, it's... it's definitely a challenge.  It’s not easy at all." 

" _You cut someone off, too?"_ Kevin asks hurriedly.

"Yes, I did."  Eddie can feel Bev's gaze on him, but he doesn't chance looking her way as he goes on.  "My best friend since the second grade.  I stopped talking to him when he moved away during college.  Made things a little easier, but just barely." 

" _You were in love with him?_ "

"Yeah I…I was." 

Relief floods Kevin's voice as he asks, " _And you're fine now?  You're over it?_ " 

Hesitating, Eddie finally spares a glance at Bev, regretting it immediately when he finds her soft, curious eyes focused on him.  He hates his mind a little bit right then as it supplies a clear memory of the boy who once held his heart, sitting in the windowsill of a childhood home Eddie knew as well as his own.  He was silhouetted by the afternoon sunlight shining inside, cigarette hanging from his lips.  It was one of the last nights Eddie saw him before he ditched the simple life for a new one in LA.

" _It's gonna happen, Eds_ ," he had said, blowing a thick stream of smoke out into the world.  " _I can feel it."_  

And Eddie was perched on the bed, legs pulled up and off the floor, arms hugging his knees close to his chest.  He stared longingly at his best friend, heart beating hard as he greedily took in the sight, locking it away to call on in the lonely days to come.  Awestruck, he asked, “ _What's gonna happen, Richie?"_

Richie turned to him, jawline cast in the shadow of the room, the right side of his face illuminated by the fading light.  " _I'm gonna make it_ ," he said, and grinned in the way that never failed to make Eddie's heart skip.  " _Just watch_." 

Eddie comes back to himself and forces away the image, picking at his peeling cuticles as his leg starts jittering under the table.  "Yup," he says, mouth going dry around the words.  "Completely over it." 

Pulling his headphones off, Eddie doesn’t wait as Bev finishes up with Kevin, taking a breath to calm his heart as it starts to pound a little faster.  The clock chimes, giving him a burst of energy to get moving.  If he doesn’t get out of here fast he’ll get interrogated for sure. 

Closest friend or not, there are a lot of things Bev doesn't know about him, and he definitely doesn't want to talk about his old friend.  He _can't_ talk about it.  It's been eight years since he last seen Richie, and as far as he's concerned, time has failed to heal anything.  Thoughts of Richie _still_ make his chest ache and his heart fill with bitterness.  It's better for Eddie not to think about Richie at all; when he does, he loses himself to the misery, drowns in the regret that washes over him.

He stands and snags his jacket off the back of the chair, patting his pockets for his wallet and keys and coming up empty.  They're on the table, just out of reach, and as he leans across the space to grab them, Bev's hand shoots out and beats him to it. 

"What's the hurry?"  She rises to her feet fluidly, swinging his keys around her middle finger as she stuffs his wallet in the back pocket of her jeans.  "I've got some _questions_." 

Eddie groans and makes a grab for the keys, missing as she slips them behind her back.  "Seriously, Bev?  Are you five?" 

"Yup," she says brightly, pushing up on her toes until they are eye-level.  "I've been _very_ naughty.  I need a swat!" 

Gritting his teeth, Eddie crosses his arms over his chest.  "I'm _not_ in the mood for this." 

"Are you ever in the mood for _anything_?" 

Glaring, Eddie slips his arm around her back and takes the keys, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.  He hasn’t been with anyone in a long time, too wrapped up in work, too tired most of the time to even try and meet someone.  And besides, he’s not sure he wants anything like that right now.  "That's _not_ funny." 

Bev looks mildly ashamed for a moment, surrendering his wallet as she mumbles "Sorry," and grabs her purse off the table, bottom lip pushed out.  "I'm just curious about this old best friend of yours.  You've _never_ mentioned anyone like that before." 

With all his things together, Eddie exits the booth with Bev in tow, slipping sideways out the door to let the next host go by.  He shuffles through the doorway with a wave and friendly smile.  "Because," he says, dodging a few more people heading down the hall in the opposite direction, heading toward the staircase at the rear of the second floor.  "It's not important." 

"Ah, okay," Bev comments, tone dripping in her usual sarcasm.  "So someone you were in love with from your _childhood_ , who was your _best friend_ , isn't important at all?  I see." 

Eddie almost stops at the bottom of the stair case but carries on, narrowing his eyes at her briefly as they fall in step beside each other.  “It’s not important.  Just drop it.”

They make it through the lobby and to the doors in silence, then, because some deity must hate him, Bev goes ahead of him and backs into the door, pushing it open as she asks, innocently, “What’s his name?” 

Walking right past her, Eddie rolls his eyes and hides his smile.  Honestly, Bev’s ability to brighten his day with her chipper nagging has to be some kind of super power.  He wants to be annoyed with her, but he can’t find it in himself to be.  Ever.  “I’m not telling you his name.”  They approach their vehicles parked side by side in the front row; a sensible black Prius beside a sporty, red Jeep.  Eddie approaches the driver's door of the Prius, turns back to Bev.  "Why do you wanna know?" 

With a shrug Bev opens the passenger door to her Jeep and tosses her purse inside.  "We’re _friends_.  I'm curious about who captured your little icy heart back in the day.  Seems impossible now."

"Oh my god."  Eddie unlocks the car and plops down in the driver seat, glancing up at the gray sky with a wince.  Perfect.  The subtle beginnings of sadness are creeping over him, seeping into his shoulders and weighing him down.  "I'm _not_ telling you his name." 

"Why not?"

"I don't want to." 

"Come on," Bev leans over the door and ruffles his hair, smiling as she cards her fingers through the strands.  "You need a haircut, boo.  It's gettin' all wavy and shit." 

Shoving her hand away, Eddie pulls the door shut but rolls the window down.  "Yours is too short."  Reaching up, he tugs on the back of her hair where the spikes are starting to fall.  "I'll cut mine when you grow yours out." 

Bev squints down at him, smirking now.  He can see she's not going to give up.  "What's his name?" 

"Bev..." 

"Is it something weird?  Like Harold?" 

"Bev." 

"Jaspar?" 

"Oh my god, stop."  

"Gene?  I bet it's Gene."  She closes her eyes, brows drawing together as she moans, “ _Ohhh Gene.  Oooohh GENE_!"  

"I fucking _hate_ you,” Eddie grips, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel and squinting up at her.   

"You love me," she cackles, swooping down and landing a wet kiss on his cheek with a loud smack.  "I'll pick you up at four.  Wear something hot!" 

"Ugh."

As she saunters off Eddie lets his smile drop, sinking back into the seat with a heavy exhale.  His mind won't allow him to direct it in another direction; it insists on following the path through his memories, digging up images of rainy days with the window in his childhood bedroom cracked open so Richie could smoke.  Richie sprawled across Eddie's bed lazily in the summer, shirt bunched up around the hem and exposing a sliver of skin that drew and captured Eddie’s gaze.  He used to think of Richie much more, before he decided enough was enough and got his life on track.  It's a slap in the face on this average day to be reminded of him- not that he doesn't still think of him.  Of course, he does.  But, he tries his best to keep it to a minimum, lest he sink into an endless depth of things he's worked incredibly hard to bury. 

Taking a breath, Eddie starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, uselessly grasping at his brain for some kind of control.    

* * *

 

The hall is one of the nicer things about the dreadful city of Stockton.  It sits at the end of a string of shops along the waterfront, the steps leading to the doors looping around to the edge of the water, guarded by a slim rail.  From inside there is a clear view of the smoggy horizon at sunset.  The tall, intricately carved doors, usually left open to take in the view, are closed due to the on and off rain throughout the day.  The hall grows warmer as the night goes on, a breeding grown for sweat and heavy breath.   

The Sushi Slam has passed smoothly- a competition by some of the best Japanese specialty chefs in the city.  It's a little before nine, the tables all pushed and stacked off to the side, the floor overrun by writhing bodies washed in dark, shifting lights.  Eddie finds himself moping at the bar, staring hard at the liquor within reach longingly, resentfully nursing a beer and a bottle of clear, cool water.  It’s a weak attempt to shut down his brain, which has ignored his pleading thoughts, has skipped off to follow the path of memories leading to the Richie vault.  He just wants to _enjoy_ himself, mindlessly smile along with everyone else, because he already knows sitting here isn't going to make him feel any better.  But, it’s too late now; he's already well into his thoughts, following the train to temptation, hands twitching to get a hold of one- _just one_ \- shot.  Of anything.  

Bev, as though summoned, appears beside him, leant against the edge of the bar, her eyes glittering prettily under the dark lights.  She's wearing a strappy, baby blue dress that enhances her freckles.  "Why are you moping?"  She asks, scooting back gingerly, one leg lifting to hoist herself up and on the stool.  "Come dance with me- you're supposed to be my date." 

There’s a bottle of whiskey in his line of sight, calling out to him, beckoning with the promise of an emotionless, weightless night.  He _barely_ resists, shooting Bev a glance out of the corner of his eye, hoping against all odds that she doesn’t catch on to his internal struggle.  Three years of sobriety are threatening to collapse around him; he worked too damn hard to stop to let it all go to shit in one evening.  Besides, these thoughts finding their way to the forefront of his mind are things he can handle, _has_ handled, more often than he cares to admit, without a drink. 

He drains what's left of the one beer he’s allowed himself, swallowing down the bitter, warm mouthful.  “You _know_ I don’t dance.” 

Bev is not deterred by his snippy tone.  "Yes, I _know_.  Grumpy-butt Eddie doesn't want to dance, or have fun, or be nice to his best friend."

Sighing, Eddie pushes the empty bottle aside, internally debates for only a moment, then flags the bartender down for another.  "I know,” he mocks, pouting slightly.  “I'm _terrible_." 

Once the cold bottle is in his hand, the top popped off, he doesn’t hesitate to take a deep drink, barely pausing to breathe.  He just needs to stay away from the liquor, and he’ll be fine.  He’ll be okay. 

Bev's eyes burn a hole into the side of his head, so he's somewhat prepared when she says, "Why are you drinking like this?  You _never_ drink."

Guilt ripples through Eddie's stomach, making it clench uneasily as he shoots Bev a nervous look.  Though they are close, he's never been able to push himself to tell her the truth.  The beginnings of the addiction, stress filled nights turned to ones he stopped remembering.  Headaches eased the next morning by a tip of a bottle over his coffee.  Afternoons revamped by mixtures of vodka and Monsters, giving the boost he needed to plow through homework and long shifts. 

He wants to share these things with Bev, but it's not that easy.  Or simple.  "I don't," he says, letting go of the beer and reaching for the bottle of water instead.  "Not anymore."

Turning to face her completely, Eddie catches the flash of questions in her gaze, the worry wrinkling her brow, the way her lips press together, holding back the things she wants to say to him.  She's not pushy when it comes to the harder things, which he was so happy to discover when they began their friendship.  It's probably the sole reason why, the first time she suggested they get lunch outside of work, that he took a chance and accepted.  Keeping to himself for so long has rusted the little social skills he had to begin with, but he's gotten somewhat better through knowing her. 

Though she's not pushing, Bev still gives him a knowing look that sets his teeth a little  on-edge, makes his skin prickle defensively.  "Are you upset about that call from earlier?"  She asks, ducking her head to meet his eyes. 

Of course he is.  " _No_."

"Eddie…"

"I'm fine."

"You're not, dollface." 

Eddie sighs, tapping hard on the table to take the edge off the frustration building inside him.  Her voice is gentle, no pressure in her tone to talk if he doesn't want to, but he still bites out, " _I am_ ," and immediately goes back to his beer. 

Jaw clenching, Bev places her hand over his forearm.  "I know you like to keep shit to yourself," she starts, and Eddie's grip tightens around the bottle in his hand.  "But I'm here.  For you.  Whenever you want to talk."  

Shaking her off seems like a good idea for a moment, but he trashes the thought almost immediately.  It's not her fault that he hasn't told her much about these problems.  He doesn't talk about them at all, with _anyone_.  His knee is bouncing as he keeps glancing at the liquor- the craving is much worse today than it has been for a long time.  Agitation is alive inside him, growing and rising, seeping into the rest of his body, and the self-control he's refined over the years is slowly slipping away.

"I'm _fine_ ," he says again, and scoots his arm away, dislodging her grip, a little harsher than he intended. 

She doesn't say anything as she pulls back, a quick flash of hurt lighting in her eyes as she looks at him sadly.  "Okay," she says, slipping off the stool, and he can almost feel her giving up, though he guesses it's only for the moment.  "Let me know if you're not."

Eddie thinks he should stop her as she walks away, ask her if he can talk to her later, but she's already gone, disappearing into the mass of dancers and out of sight.  Great- now he feels even worse, like a massive prick.  This whole friendship thing, a thing he never thought he'd find again, is so much harder when he's not honest.  It's not that he doesn't trust Bev, of course he does, but he just doesn't know how to even begin to talk about these things in his heart, these gripping pains that choke him up when he gets too deep in his own head.  And the drinking- okay, he can probably talk about that much easier.  But Richie?

A shudder goes through him as he pictures Richie the last time they saw each other, with his wild curls blowing back and away from his face, his pale cheeks flushed in the cool breeze of autumn.  God- is he _ever_ going to stop thinking about him?  There must be something wrong with him.  Something- something _broken_ \- maybe.  This can't be normal; it's been so long that he should have forgotten all about him already. 

But, things between them were never _normal_ , were they?  Their friendship always seemed laced with potential, always seemed to hum with the promise of more, though Eddie never tried to make it so.  He kept it all in, he let Richie leave, and he just...

Eddie blinks a few times, shakes the thoughts away.  It's time he tells Bev everything, no matter how hard it's going to be.  She helped him in ways she doesn't even know.  Back when his problem was at its worst and he fucked up constantly, she swooped into his life and brought ambition with her.  He didn't go through a program, or take medication, or consult his doctor- he just _stopped_.  Cold turkey.  And it was _hard_.  There were days he wanted to down a whole bottle of whatever he could find and off himself- but Bev would contact him at just the right moment, invite him out for lunch or a drive, or invite herself over to his house for a movie marathon, and then he'd have a reason not to do anything stupid.  He had a reason to stay alive. 

The music, upbeat and techno like, something from an earlier decade, comes to a slow, instantly recognizable song.  Eddie almost rolls his eyes as "Time After Time" begins, looking pointedly away from the bodies pairing off on the floor.  That damn lonely ache takes hold of his insides, curls in the empty pit of his stomach, where he feels it settle and take root.  He remains where he is perched on the stool, miserably alone, his body aching for a shot of the strong stuff, and he tries to recapture the feeling of purpose again.  Tries to turn his mind away from the dark hall it's dragging him toward, where the insecurities lie in wait, waiting to tear him down all over again.  They want to remind him of the failure he already knows he is.  They want to bring him to his knees and laugh in his face, pull any sliver of hope out from under his feet, so he crashes all over again.  Falls back into the pit that nearly consumed him in the past. 

Screw it- he should just go for the harder stuff. 

Eddie lifts his hand to call the bartender back to him, the back of his neck prickling, not unpleasantly, and he turns to glance over his shoulder, just to get another look at the people swaying close together.  And it's then, with that quick look that might have only lasted a few seconds that he sees him. 

Some ten feet or so away a man is stopped in his tracks, a path leading directly to Eddie, eyes going wide as his brows crawl up his forehead, disappearing under the curls that hang gently over his eyes.  And his _eyes_ \- dark and becoming, framed by black glasses adorned with thick lenses that make Eddie pause, his grip on the bottle slackening as those eyes lock with his own.  A dam bursts open somewhere inside him, his heart jolting in his chest, his fingers closing in to fists that plant themselves on the surface of the bar.  There's a tug deep in his chest, a tug that pulls him from his seat.  He stands on unsteady legs, his mouth falling open in unbelievable recognition. 

It's him. 

It's _him._

The name falls from Eddie's lips as the man approaches, a little breathless, a lot lost and uncertain.  " _Richie_...?" 

The man steps close enough for Eddie to see his features clearly, the glow from the lights behind the bar falling over the freckles scattered across his nose, the angles of his cheekbones and jaw, and Eddie almost chokes when he says, "Eddie?" so uncertainly, voice full of awe and wonder.  "Holy shit- it's _you_." 

There's no way, Eddie thinks, as he steps forward, almost floating into Richie's opening arms.  His own wind around Richie's waist, palms resting high up on his back, the music nearly disappearing as everything he's feeling roars in his ears.  Richie laughs, low and warm, so close to Eddie's neck, large hands grasping at Eddie's back tightly, holding him close.  And Eddie can't think, can barely form any thoughts beyond-- _How?  HOW?_ This can't be real- he has to be dreaming, or imagining, or something else.  But as they grip each other tight, as Richie's voice fills his ears and Eddie inhales his familiar scent- smoke and dryer sheets- he starts to tremble, because it's _real_.  Richie is _here_.  Richie is right in front of him. 

Richie pulls away first, palms cupping Eddie's elbows, his wide, infectious smile so painfully familiar that Eddie has to hold back a sob.  "Shit.  I wasn't sure if it was you," Richie tells him, fingers squeezing Eddie's arms, gaze darting between Eddie’s eyes.  "I saw you, and I hoped, but... wow." 

There are no words that come to mind that can suffice in this moment.  Mouth gaping, Eddie feels his fingers gripping at Richie's sides, holding on tight, and he wills them to let go, for his knuckles to obey and unclench.  "I, I can't," he manages, his suddenly dry throat catching at his words.  Eddie tries again, his voice faint to his own ears.  "You're _here_ , you- how are you...?" 

Richie steps back now, releasing his hold on Eddie, and though Eddie wants nothing more than to keep holding on he forces his hands to comply, letting them fall at his sides.  "I moved back a couple months ago," Richie says, his hands going to his pockets, eyes looking Eddie over entirely, slowly.  "You look... _wow_.  Eds, you look _great_." 

A flush warms Eddie's cheeks, a bashful smile curving the corners of his mouth.  "Y-You, too.  You look..." he takes in Richie's open-collar shirt, a deep color that contrasts with the pale skin of his throat, and a dusting of hair peeks out at the V of his shirt.  Dark jeans hug his legs, paired with boots that lace up over the cuffs and throw off the rest of the outfit.  Eddie smiles as he looks up, catching a colorful band tied around Richie's bony wrist, a chain around his neck, where a small charm of the bisexual pride flag hangs over his chest.  It's so _Richie_ ; he remembers the times that Richie dressed up for things, such as dances and weddings, and he did things just like this.  He could never go without hinting at who he really is, and it seems that hasn't changed.  "You look good, Rich," Eddie finishes, keeping his legs planted firmly, resisting the need to embrace Richie again.  "What uh, what brings you here?"  He gestures to the hall around them.  "To this?"  

Eddie pats himself on the back for sounding far more confident than he’s feeling, watching as Richie comes closer again.  "See that lady over there?"  Richie asks, leaning down to speak close to Eddie's ear, gesturing to the opposite end of the bar. 

Following his gaze, Eddie spots one of the staff from the San Joaquin Pride Center, who he was introduced to earlier.  She's a little older, and he recalls her giving off a motherly vibe.  "Yeah, I see her." 

"Her ex is here with a _really_ young girl.  A teenager, basically," Richie tells him in a dramatic whisper, cupping his mouth, waving at her with a smile.  "She didn't want to come alone."   

Eddie eyes the woman briefly before he turns back to Richie, staring up at him with his throat going dry and his fingers twitching at his sides.  "How generous of you," he says, letting a little sarcasm dip into his tone.

Richie smiles and adjusts his collar, stepping away once again.  "You know me, Spaghetti.  I'm a _nice guy_." 

The nickname makes Eddie pause, dragging him through a ditch of nostalgia and a sudden rush of memories, his eyes narrowing as his voice comes out a little shaky.  "Oh my _god_ , no one's called me that for so long." 

"Those _fools_ ,” Richie exclaims, grinning toothily.  "It's the most obvious thing in the world!" 

An answering smirk breaks out over Eddie’s lips, the words coming to him effortlessly.  “Shut it, Trashmouth.” 

Richie laughs, his head tipping back slightly, eyes dancing with amusement as he inches closer again.  “Damn, Eds,” he says, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.  “I never thought I’d hear that one again.”   

Their eyes meet and hold, the dark lights washing over them, casting an eerie glow over Richie’s pale skin, throwing his eyes into shadow- but Eddie can still feel them boring into his own.  There are so many things rushing through Eddie’s mind, too many things he wants to say and do- but he'd die before he allows himself to act on what he’s feeling.  What are the chances, that Richie would happen to be here?  It just doesn’t seem real, even though he can smell the hint of cologne on Richie’s skin, can feel the lingering warmth of their embrace, can reach out and touch Richie’s soft-looking curls if he dares.  And, most of all, he can _see_ the same disbelief flickering in Richie’s eyes, and he wonders, not for the first time, how stupid and rash he was to cut off contact between them. 

Regret spreads through his chest, and even more so when Richie smiles softly, leaning in closer as the music shifts to something loud, speaking very close to his ear.  “You’re still as cute as the last time I saw you.” 

Blushing is something Eddie hasn't done much since he was in his early twenties, but even so his cheeks fill with heat and he glances away, heart thumping wildly.  "Shut up," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.  " _You_ are as ridiculous as ever."

Chuckling, Richie steps closer to the bar, leaning casually against the edge, hip cocked out.  "Fuck- it's been a long ass time.  Are you really the radio guy hosting this thing?" 

"Yeah, me and Beverly, my co-host," Eddie says, clinging to the change in subject as he glances around for any sign of her.  She's dancing close by with a few young girls, teaching them how to kick their legs up and twirl into something Eddie recognizes from an 80s movie.  Probably _Pretty In Pink_.  "We've been on the air together for a few years." 

Richie nods, impressed.  "Damn, Eds- you're a big shot now, ain't ya?" 

Eddie shrugs, going for indifference, but his legs are trembling and his heart is pounding, so he’s sure it comes out more jittery than he intended.  Relaxing is impossible; he’s not even sure how he’s managed to remain standing with his pulse tripping over itself, rushing through him in waves that threaten to drag him down.  "I uh, it's an advice line.  You know- like a talk show,” he says, drumming his fingers along a stool close to him.  “I'm a mental health specialist and a substance abuse counselor." 

Whistling, Richie plants his elbows on the bar top, brings his face close again.  "We have a _lot_ of catching up to do, huh?”  He licks his licks, and Eddie swallows thickly, eyes following the slick trail left behind.  “Let's do lunch tomorrow.  I'm free in the afternoon." 

Eddie hesitates, mouth open partially, _yes_ on the tip of his tongue while _abort_ flashes through his mind.  He wants to go, but his brain is shoving his heart down, smothering it under the unearthed feelings now fluttering inside him.  All the uncertainty he used to feel in Richie's presence, all the back-and-forth emotions that would drive him crazy- he has to remember those things.  He can’t just forget about it all, no matter how much he wants to throw all caution to the wind and _live_.   

But, it's probably a bad idea.  Yes, actually- it's a _really_ bad idea.  He ended this long ago, ignored countless phone calls and messages, changed his number when it all became too much to handle.  And yeah, he’s been tormented by regret, but isn’t everyone?  Large decisions aren’t easy to make, and the “what ifs” can and have driven him up the wall more times than he can count. 

_And yet_ , the voice in the back chimes in.  _Maybe you made a mistake._   

His pause goes on too long, and Richie's eyes flick away from his as he smiles sadly.  "You're probably busy, huh?  It's cool." 

_No, no I'm not._  Eddie's mouth closes, then opens again, and he watches in silence as Richie pushes away from the bar and makes to leave.  This is his chance, no matter what his stupid, self-preserving brain is telling him.  "R-Rich..."

Richie's smile doesn't reach his eyes.  "Yeah?" 

Before he can change his mind, Eddie pulls his phone out of his pocket and shoves it at Richie's chest, nearly dropping it when Richie doesn't immediately take it.  "Yes.  Yeah, uh- tomorrow.  Lunch." 

This time, Richie’s smile brightens his whole face, and he eagerly enters his phone number on Eddie’s older (but functional) sidekick.  His long fingers tap the keyboard efficiently, then he hands it back with flip, and they repeat the process with Richie’s newer (and fancy looking) phone. 

They say goodbye with their eyes, a locked gaze that lingers as Richie walks backwards.  Eddie doesn’t look away, _can’t_ look away, breathing a little heavily as Richie winks, then disappears into the thick of the dancing people.  Once he’s gone, Eddie flees to the bathroom so he can fall apart in private.  

He heads into the dark hall off to the side, shoving the door open to the men's and grasping desperately at the sink.  He bends, taking stock of the empty stalls with a grateful sigh; thank god there's nobody in here.  He tries for deep, calming breaths, talks himself down from the anxiety attack he can feel creeping through his sternum.  This isn't the place, and he doesn't have the time for this.  He needs to go back out there and help Bev, but he can't think or process anything that just happened.

What the fuck.  _What the fuck._ What kind of bullshit is it that he happens to run into Richie the day he finally mentions him out loud?  Is it like a fucking spell?  Say the name and summon the real thing?  A curse?  Though, to be fair, he didn’t actually say his name until Richie was right in front of him.  

Eddie sighs and looks at himself in the mirror; he's flushed and his hair is a mess, brows wrinkled and calling attention to the stress settling over his shoulders.  Okay.  He's _fine_.  Everything is just fine.  There’s no need to turn into some dramatic hoe.   

He splashes cool water over his face, pats his cheeks dry with a wad of brown, recycled paper towels.  He keeps up the careful breaths, to calm his rushing pulse, and the flaring need to head back out there and go straight to the bar.  He wants nothing more than to get shit-faced right now, and that is _not_ going to happen.

Standing up straight, he leaves the bathroom. 

The heat of the lights and dancing, the bodies moving and colliding- it all hits him as he reemerges along the edge of the dance floor, searching for a flash of red hair so he can find out when this whole thing is supposed to end.  She finds him first, appearing in a flash and grasping his forearm. 

"Who was that sexy motherfucker you were talking to?"  Bev's voice is light but insistent, her grin spreading wide.  "Jesus, I thought you didn't want to meet anyone?"

Eddie can't keep it inside, her hands on him breaking the seal open.  "It's h-him." 

"Who?" 

"My friend.  The one I-" he stops, looks at the ground and blinks a few times.  Everything is catching up to him at once, the ground tilting dangerously.  "Richie.  His name is Richie…" 

As he looks up again Bev searches his face, and he can see the moment she understands.  "Shit," she says, and Eddie is so happy she can read him so easily.  "Come on."  She seizes his wrist and pulls him straight through the mess of dancers.  Eddie struggles to keep up with her, almost knocked over several times, covering his nose as body odor and strong perfumes flood his nose.  They make it to the entrance without any issues, and Bev leads him down the front steps.   

Once the cool air hits him he inhales, allowing Bev to direct him to the railing, the water glinting in the lights hanging on the rails.  "Okay."  She grasps his shoulders, keeps him steady as his knees threaten to buckle.  "What happened?" 

There's not much to tell, and he doesn’t trust his voice to remain as steady as needs it to.  So, he simply says, "I ran into him." 

Bev nods, understanding.  “Okay, so that was the guy?  The friend you were in love with?”

Eddie nods, pulse picking up slightly.  "We're having lunch tomorrow,” he says, one hand finding the cool metal of the rail and holding on.  “It’s all too much, I just- I can’t handle it all right now.”   

Bev doesn't say anything for a moment, the corners of her mouth thinning out as her brows draw together in the middle.  After a few beats of silence, she breathes, "Wow."

He doesn't want to freak out over this.  Doesn't want to fall to his knees unable to breathe over something that shouldn't be this important.  "I can’t.  I don’t think I can—” Bev cuts him off, pulling him in and winding her arms around his shoulders, and he feels like the worst person for being so irritated with her earlier as he clings to her comfort.  "I'm sorry," he says, ready to grovel if needed.  "I'm such a dick.  I haven't even told you _anything_ about him." 

"You don't have to."  Squeezing his shoulders, Bev moves back and cups his face, runs her thumbs over his cheekbones.  "You tell me whatever you want, whenever you want.  I'm here... okay?" 

Eddie nods, swallowing down the lump of appreciation that's formed in his throat.  "Okay."

"We can talk about it later, or not at all." 

He lets his gaze drift down between them.  "Okay." 

"Okay.”  Some of the weight lifts away from him, and as Bev lifts her chin, smirking now, he finds himself a little more at ease.  "We have to get back in there.” 

“I know.” 

“Come with me,” Bev thrusts her hand out, palm up.  “My fellow homo." 

Eddie huffs, then giggles as he shoves gently at her shoulder.  "You're a part-time gay.  It doesn't count." 

Bev gasps, mock-offended.  "Are you judging my bi-ness?  _You_?  Mr. Advice?” 

He clings to the change in topic, feeling a little crazed as he plays along.  Eddie takes her hand.  “I _am_.  Just pick a damn side.” 

She laughs and yanks him close to her side, then gives him an obnoxious, smacking kiss on the cheek.  “Explain to me how I want to ride you, my beautiful gay butterfly, and eat pussy at the same time?  How is that not a raging bisexual?” 

Eddie gags.  “ _Bev_!” 

“You’d bang me if you wanted the cookie.” 

“ _Oh_ my fucking _god_.” 

They head back inside, Bev cackling at every stupid thing she says that grosses Eddie out, and chases away the mess of feelings inside him.

He doesn't get Richie out of his mind for the rest of the night, but he manages to keep himself together. 

 

* * *

 

 

**Eight years earlier**

The bed is warm, soft, the sheets clean and fresh, smelling of detergent and dryer sheets.  Eddie burrows deeper under the blankets as he turns over and puts his back to the window, one arm slipping up and under his pillow, clinging to the soft cotton. 

It's a little after one, and he should definitely be asleep, but his mind won't settle down, feeding him a constant string of doubts and worries playing on an endless loop.  Things are so close to changing, life in his hometown on the verge of taking a new course.  Change is a good thing- he has to remind himself of this daily, otherwise he'll succumb to the desire to keep things the same, to cling to the life he knows.  He'll still be in this bedroom, with the white curtains that refuse to draw shut completely, and the stain on the ceiling that has been there since he was a kid.  He'll still walk up and down the familiar streets, take the same old roads back and forth to school.  And yet, everything is going to be different.

Because Richie is leaving. 

He yawns wide, blinking wetly as he glances around his dark bedroom, at the shapes he's familiar with, wondering briefly how it will feel to _finally_ leave this place behind.  It's not going to happen any time soon for him, but he's looking forward to the day nonetheless.  Maybe he'll run off to LA, too.  Switch schools.  Rent an apartment in the heart of the east side, roommate with Richie and hope for more.

There's a scrape and click that makes him sit up and turn around, eyes on the window as it lurches upward once, then stops.  “Hey, uh, Eds.”  Eddie rolls his eyes at his best friend’s voice, throwing the covers off to get up and help him.  “I think this shit is stuck!”

Slipping his fingers in the slim gap, Eddie slides it open, narrowing his gaze at a grinning Richie.  “It’s one in the morning,” he says, voice hard, though he knows it doesn’t matter to Richie.  “What are you doing here?” 

Richie’s mouth falls open for a moment, as though he’s seriously considering the question.  Eddie catches a whiff of weed stink, wrinkling his nose as Richie slurs, “I wanted to see you.” 

So he’s drunk, too.  Perfect.  “Get in here,” Eddie hisses, stepping back to give Richie the room he needs.  “You’re gonna wake my mom up, asshole.” 

Richie clambers inside, shoes thumping against the wall a few times, a baseball cap sitting backwards on his head, curls wildly bursting from the sides.  “Fuck,” he says when he’s finally standing up, looking back at the small window distrustfully.  “When did that thing shrink?” 

“You’re too big for it, genius,” Eddie says irritably, shivering as he moves past Richie and slides the window shut again.  “Were you at a party or something?” 

Plopping down on the end of the bed, Richie nods, wobbly, eyes closing as he takes a deep, dramatic inhale.  “I _hate_ parties, Eds.  They’re so _boring_.”

“Then why the hell do you go?” 

Richie groans, rolling his neck, blinking owlishly up at Eddie from behind the bulky frames of his glasses.  “I don’t know.” 

Something tugs at Eddie’s chest, and though he wants to be thoroughly annoyed, he steps forward with a reassuring smile, lifts his hands and takes hold of Richie’s glasses.  “Here’s a crazy idea,” he says, slipping the frames off and folding them gently in his palm.  “ _Don’t go_.” 

Richie is staring up at him in awe, glassy eyes wide and dreamy.  “You could come with me,” he suggests, reaching out and tugging on the end of Eddie’s shirt.  “It'd be so much more fun with you.” 

“No,” Eddie says firmly, then sets the glasses on the nightstand and slides under the covers.  “Go the fuck to sleep.  You didn’t drive here, right?" 

Richie shakes his head, puffing his cheeks out and removing his hat.  "I walked, Spagheds.  You really think I'd drive like this?" 

No.  Eddie knows he never would.  He ignores Richie's incredulous stare and turns, putting his back to him.  "Shut it or you'll wake the Dark Lord."  

The bed dips under Richie's weight, jostling Eddie enough for him to look over his shoulder.  Richie is crawling up the bed, huffing something about scratchy sheets as he turns and kicks his shoes off.  They fall with audible thuds, the sound magnified by the stillness of the house.  Eddie winces, listening carefully, Richie's eyes glued to his as they wait for the tell tale sign of his mom shuffling up the stairs.  After several minutes of silence, Eddie takes a breath and lowers his head, grateful his mom is a heavy sleeper.  

Snorting, Richie sits up on his knees, taking hold of the comforters.  " _Close call_ ," he stage whispers, eyebrows waggling out of sync. 

"Go to sleep, _Richard_ ," Eddie gripes, rolling on to his back to give Richie a pointed look.  It's not going to do much, but now he's starting to get irritated.  "Or go home." 

Richie tugs on the covers, whining Eddie's name.  "Stop being mean to me, Eds!  Make some room." 

Closing his eyes, Eddie counts to three in his head.  Then, in a tight voice, "There's plenty of room, you fucking bed hog." 

"But I wanna cuddle." 

Sighing, Eddie starts to say, "We're not cuddling, you ass-" but then Richie pulls the comforter and sheet out of his grasp, smirking as he quickly shoves both down and toward the end of the bed.  Eddie sits up, makes a pointless grab for them.  "What the fuck?"

"Shh," Richie soothes, his wide, firm palms taking hold of Eddie's shoulders and pressing him back down, eyes dark and hooded as he scoots back.  "Shh, Eds.  Gotta stay quiet." 

Eddie is not in the mood for this shit.  It's late, he's exhausted, he's got some hard decisions he needs to make, and sleep is about the only thing that can make him more of a person right now.  "Fuck- Richie, I swear to- w-what are you doing?"

Richie has lowered himself to the bed, knees pulled close to his chest as he snuggles up to Eddie's stomach.  "I'm tired," he hums, palms resting gently over Eddie's hips, fingers squeezing the worn fabric of his shorts.  "You're comfy." 

Eddie exhales shakily, letting his head fall back, huffing his frustration.  This is why he hates when Richie drinks or smokes.  Richie is usually full of touches that linger and looks that burn a hole through Eddie's heart on an average day, but it's so much worse when his inhibitions are lowered.  It's like a switch gets flipped and he suddenly craves, pinning Eddie to walls and attacking his neck with kisses that light a fire in his skin, running his hands over Eddie's chest and hips, always pausing before they slip under, right where Eddie wants to feel them most.  But, nothing has ever _really_ happened between them.  Richie has tried to kiss him while drunk plenty of times, but not once while stone cold sober.  This is the reason Eddie never allows it, always turns away with his heart shattering and his stomach rolling.  Because even though he wants Richie so bad, has longed for something real between them for far too long, he _can't_ let it happen.  Not when Richie won't remember it the next day.  Sure, if he was brave, and if things were simple, he'd just talk to Richie about this.  But Richie's never been one for serious conversations, and Eddie is a coward on his best days. 

But most importantly, nothing with Richie is ever simple. 

Eddie closes his eyes and keeps still, hoping Richie will just pass out so he can adjust them and go to sleep in peace.  But Richie's right hand moves up over his left side, fingers teasing at the hem of Eddie's shirt, and then they slip beneath, slowly, nails crawling deftly over his suddenly heated skin. 

"R-Rich," Eddie stutters, his skin breaking out in goosebumps as he looks down at Richie's dark mop of hair.  It obscures his face from view, and Eddie shivers at the touch.  "What are you doing?" 

"Nothin'," Richie replies, voice low and rough, and then he slides his left palm up to join the other.  "Your skin's so soft…" 

Then Richie pushes the shirt up, bunching it over Eddie's ribs, exposing Eddie's stomach to the cooler air in the room.  Eddie gasps and squirms when Richie's lips touch him, a kiss that lands just above the waistband of his shorts, and Richie's fingers grip his sides to hold him still.   

Eddie bites down on his lip to keep from making any noise as Richie's lips move over his flesh, leaving a burning trail from his navel to his ribs, then back again.  And Richie keeps at it, one hand moving down, down over Eddie's thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze that makes Eddie suck in a breath before his fingers slip up the leg of his shorts. 

Holy shit.  Eddie looks down, his legs clenching, threatening to close as Richie's thumb drags slowly over the inside of his thigh, nail pressing into his heated skin.  No one has ever touched him this way before, not even the handful of guys Eddie has dated.  A heady mix of need and uncertainty fills him, but the uncertainty is overpowered quickly when Richie's thumb moves higher, getting dangerously close to his hardening cock.   Squirming, Eddie parts his legs, moaning when Richie's thumb slips into the crease between his thigh and pelvis.  " _Richie_..." 

"Fuck," Richie murmurs, his hand moving away quite suddenly, and then he's crawling up and closer to Eddie's face, plastering his larger frame over Eddie's splayed limbs, pinning him down.  "Eds," he breathes, his thigh resting between Eddie's legs, pressing up and against him. 

"R-Richie," Eddie stutters, head falling back as a jolt of pleasure rocks through him.  Shit- he needs to stop this now, needs to shove Richie away from him before he gives in.    

Richie blinks, staring down at Eddie intensely, eyes filled with something Eddie's never seen there before.  It's soft around the edges, filling Eddie's chest with a dreadful sense of hope that pulls at his heart and shrivels in his chest.  And he doesn't understand it- how can he feel two separate things so sharply at once?  The hope flares as Richie moves in, closing the distance between them, hooded eyes focused on Eddie's mouth.

Eddie feels himself drawn deeper into this, almost drowning in the dark pools of Richie's eyes, in the warmth of his breath brushing over Eddie's chin- but his senses kick in with just a breath of space between them.  He turns away, the spell broken, and he pushes Richie away, palms firm on his chest.  "No."  

Frowning, Richie pulls back.  "What..."

Wriggling out from under him, Eddie reaches for the comforters and pulls them back up, doing his best to ignore the warmth in his cheeks, and the color he can feel filling them.  "You're drunk, Rich.  Just go to sleep."  

There's a flash of something in Richie's eyes, something Eddie doesn't catch fast enough to identify, and then it's like a blind is being pulled closed; Richie's expression goes blank, then a grin breaks out over his lips.  It's like there was never anything else there.  "Will you be mad if I spend the night with your mom instead?" 

The change is so rapid that Eddie stutters his retort.  "G-Get the fuck out of my room."  The words hold no bite to them, his hands shaking as he reaches out and shoves Richie away from him.  "Prick."

After a bit of whining Richie finally settles back against the pillows, rolling on to his side as Eddie turns over, putting his back to him.  He can’t shut his mind down, entirely too aware of the warmth radiating from Richie’s form, the lingering heat still thrumming through his skin.  It’s too much to deal with, too much to think about when he’s dead tired and wants to just fall into the bliss of sleep. 

Eddie takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, an attempt to relax that is immediately disrupted when Richie’s arm slides around him.  He jolts, almost pushes it away, but then Richie pulls him back against his firm chest, locks his arm around Eddie’s waist as he noses at the back of Eddie’s neck. 

Wriggling, Eddie tests the give of Richie’s hold, his heart fluttering when Richie hums into his hair and somehow pulls Eddie closer.  Eddie keeps as still as possible, pressing his lips together as he does his best to ignore how incredible this feels, how it fills his chest with a lonely ache he’s going to have to get used to soon enough. 

He doesn’t sleep much that night, and when he wakes in the morning, Richie is all bright smiles with no memory, free of the weight resting over Eddie’s shoulders. 

* * *

 

**Present**   

There’s an oddly placed coffee shop Eddie frequents during his busy work week, sitting right in the middle of town, at the center of a cluster of crowded neighborhoods.  It's not the fancy kind, but it's clean and practical, with fast service and a decent variety of specialty drinks.  Most of the baristas and servers know Eddie by name, and that’s exactly why he chooses the place as the meeting ground for lunch with Richie. 

About ten minutes or so have gone by since Eddie arrived, but he’s still seated in his car, staring wearily at the window where he can see Richie sitting, waiting.  Eddie isn’t late yet, but he’s very close to it, only a few minutes left to their agreed meeting time.  This is a bad idea; he should have listened to his instincts screaming at him to decline, to run the other way and never look back.  It doesn't matter how much he’s regretted his decision since, how much his heart has been yearning for another chance- he's not sure he can see this going well.   

Before he can lose his nerve Eddie climbs out of the car, standing up straight as he takes several deep breaths.  It’s fine.  Everything is _fine_.  It doesn’t matter that he thought of Richie last night, dreamed of him, too.  He dreamed of a lot of things, but the night Richie told him he was leaving stands out amongst the rest, stark and sullen, a blemish on the colorful history they share together. 

Eddie cried hard that night after Richie snuck back out the window, refusing Eddie's offer to stay the night because he still needed to tell his parents the good news. 

_"I did it, Eds!"_

_"What'd you do now, idiot?"_

Eddie pulls the door open and steps inside, letting the warmth and the aroma of freshly ground coffee wash over him.  Oddly, it does more to calm his nerves than any deep breaths ever have, so he inhales deeply, lets his gaze roam over to where Richie is sitting.  He has a mug clutched between his hands, his phone set on the table close by, so Eddie takes a few minutes to order his usual before he heads over.   

_"I got in to the school!  The one in Los Angeles."_

_"You... you got in...?"_

Approaching the table, Eddie tries for a friendly smile, but it feels more lika a betraying grimace.  "Hey," he greets, his stomach jolting when Richie's eyes rise to meet his. 

Richie smiles, though it's edged with a hint of uncertainty.  "Hey, Eds."   

The nickname throws Eddie for a loop.  He frowns down at the table as he shrugs out of his jacket and slings it on the back of his chair.  "It's so weird to hear that again."

"Hear what?"

"You call me 'Eds'." 

Richie's smile takes a turn for the more genuine side, and Eddie feels himself returning it as Richie sets his mug down and crosses his arms on the table.  "I...didn't think you were going to come." 

One brow rising, Eddie's voice clips higher as he takes his seat.  "Why not?" 

A shrug jostles the curls skimming the buttoned shirt covering Richie's shoulders.  It's white with a green striped pattern, open at the top and revealing a silver chain around Richie's neck.  It's the same one he was wearing last night.  Richie glances away as he says, "You looked a little spooked to see me last night." 

Eddie leans back in his seat, sitting up as straight as possible.  He must be as transparent as he's always been.  "...I wasn't." 

Richie smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes.  "Uh huh." 

"I was surprised." 

"Sure, sure." 

Eddie resists the urge to kick Richie under the table.  God- is he sixteen again?  "It's been a long time!" 

"Eight years." 

Their eyes rest on each other and hold, Eddie's insides twisting up in a confusing coil he doesn't want to look at too closely.  He presses his lips together, keeping a tight hold on an array of words that threaten to burst out of him.  There's no way he's going to admit anything out loud- what would be the point?

"So, uh," Eddie clears his throat, tearing his eyes away from Richie's penetrating gaze.  "You uh- why did you move back here?" 

Richie sips from his mug, a sweet scent wafting from the melting whipped cream piled on top.  "My mom," he starts, but he seems reluctant to go on, eyes falling to the table before flicking back up.  "My dad… he passed away six months ago.  Things weren't working out in LA anyway, and my mom needed me, so.  I came back."

Eddie has no idea what to say for a moment; he liked Went Tozier very much as a kid.  The man and his son were basically twins- a pair of wise-cracking, forgetful jokers, they drove poor Maggie Tozier crazy.  Eddie recalls multiple dinners spent in the Tozier household, exchanging looks with Richie's mother as the other two would go on and create their own commentary for the late night comedy lineup.  Went was possibly the most supportive father Eddie had ever known.  Richie and Went were so close, and Eddie had always secretly envied the father-son relationship he would never know. 

"Richie," Eddie hears himself say quietly as he wrings his hands together in his lap.  "I'm so sorry." 

Richie shakes his head as he swallows down what Eddie suspects is hot chocolate.  "It's okay," he says, taking a stir stick out of the holder at the end of the table.  "He had cancer and he was always in pain.  It's..." he starts to twirl the stick between his fingers, a quick shadow of pain passing over his features before he sits up and seems to shrug it away.  "It sucks.  I miss him.  But he was suffering a lot and I'm glad he's not anymore." 

Eddie isn't sure how he feels dropping the subject, but he starts to ask about Richie's mom, and that makes Richie smile again and go on about how much better she's doing now that he's back.  From there on it seems like nothing has changed much between them.  Eddie tells Richie about working through school and finally coming to the decision to cut off his mother, which Richie applauds him for.  He also tells Richie about finding the job at the radio station; he was getting ready to accept a job in a private practice when he stopped by the San Joaquin Pride center to volunteer and met Bev.  She was there checking in on a fundraising event and took an instant liking to him.  Richie laughs as Eddie recalls some of Bev's one-liners and golden pieces of advice, and he promises to introduce them if he gets the chance. 

Then Richie tells him about school in LA.  Elitist, cowardly, so expensive he had to work two or three jobs from time to time just to make up the difference in tuition and supply costs.  Things got even tighter for him when his dad first got sick and his parents couldn't help him as much, then missing classes became a regular thing as he took on more and more shifts.  Soon there was no option left but to try and go back another semester, try again when things settled down.

"I got into something else, though," Richie says, moving back and tapping his fingers on the surface of the table.  "Things are better now." 

"What'd you get into?"  The question is innocent enough, and Eddie is genuinely curious- but Richie's jaw clenches and his nails halt their rhythm on the table, eyes flicking away and out the window, tightening around the edges. 

Eddie watches as Richie's shoulders hunch in slightly, waits as he witnesses the familiar sight of Richie smothering whatever it is he's feeling, shoving it down with a clenched fist and a quick inhale.  It's terrifying in it's familiarity.  Maybe some things really never change. 

"I worked at a music store," Richie says at last, his eyes lighting up as Eddie nods to show he's listening.  "That's where I work now.  It's pretty cool; I get to sell instruments and listen to music all day." 

After that the conversation turns light again, and they ease into their old banter, Richie mixing things up with flirting, just like he always used to.  The word "cute" gets thrown around several times, and Eddie retorts by calling Richie an asshole, blushing hard when Richie shoots him a suggestive smile and a wink to top it off.  It's a little horrifying to see how easily he's fallen back into the back-and-forth between them, but Eddie tries to remind himself that he needs to be strong.  No matter how funny Richie still is, or kind, beautiful, striking…

The shift of the afternoon sun prompts Eddie to check his phone for the time; he startes when he sees he needs to be at the club to set up for the fundraiser in a little over an hour.  Where the hell did the time go?  "Shit," he groans, then reaches behind himself to shove his arms into his jacket.  "I gotta go." 

"Oh?"  Richie says, disappointment coloring his tone.  "Uh, okay." 

Standing, Eddie starts to button the scratchy fabric as he says, "I'm gonna be late to this thing."

"What thing?" 

"Dance fundraiser thing," Eddie says distractedly, waiting as Richie stands as well.  "It's at a club.  It's for another LGBT support group here in town." 

Nodding, Richie follows him out after dropping a couple twenties on the table, adjusting his sweater as they head out the door and into the wind.  "So you're gonna dance, huh?" 

Scoffing, Eddie wraps his arms around himself and shivers, turning to face Richie.  "Definite _no_." 

"Why not?" 

"I don't dance." 

Richie squints suspiciously, then bumps his shoulder lightly.  "I could get you to dance." 

"You sound awfully sure of yourself." 

"I _am_ sure of myself." 

"Wow.  So _that's_ why your hair is so big.  It's full of that ego." 

Richie snorts and starts to laugh, and the warmth of the sound spreads from Eddie's chest and down to his fingertips, his pulse skipping along as he stares at the long line of Richie's neck.  It's pale, smooth looking, and Eddie gets lost staring hard at all that skin, his hand twitching down at his side.

As Richie's laughter tapers away he grins instead, shoving his hands down deep in his pockets.  "We should do this again," he says carefully, looking for all the world like he's prepared to get turned down.  "I uh- I've missed this." 

Eddie's mouth works soundlessly, and he wants to shout- _Me, too_! -but the words refuse to leave him, choking him up and pulling heavily at his heart.  He can do this.  He can be friends with Richie again, even if it means he dives headfirst into heartbreak all over again.  He's taking too long to answer though, his brain stopping and stuttering around each thought that wants to find voice. 

Richie waits for several moments, silent, a resolute curl between his brows.  Then, he nods, glances at the wet ground with a smile that is more of a grimace.  "Or not…"  he then looks back up at Eddie, hovers uncertainly beofre he turns away.  "See you around, Eds." 

He walks off, through a shallow puddle between two cars parked right in front of the café, taking Eddie’s unspoken words with him.  No- no, he can’t let this happen.  “Richie!”  He calls out, then forces his legs to move to go after him. 

Stopping beside a black Crown Victoria, Richie waits as Eddie catches up, quirking his brow questioningly.  “It’s fine, Eds.  If you don’t want to—” 

“Come to the fundraiser tonight,” Eddie blurts, swallowing down his nerves.  “It’s a- a dancing competition.  I think you’d like it.”

Eddie’s heart swells with affection when the corner of Richie’s mouth lifts in a playful smirk.  “I’ll be there.” 

Why did Eddie cut off contact again?

* * *

 

 

The club is a neon nightmare. 

 Eddie had been reminded at the last minute by Bev that the theme is Neon Gay, and to bust out his tackiest stuff and throw it on.  The problem is Eddie doesn't own anything incredibly gaudy, so he went with a screaming teal buttoned shirt he's had sitting in the back of his closet for a reason he can't recall, and a pair of bright, yellow jeans Bev dared him to buy a couple years ago.  He looks a little ridiculous, but the clothes fit him well, so he does his best to rock it. 

Luckily, he fits right in, even if his outfit is a little understated.  Okay, scratch that- _a lot_ understated.  It's a sea of homo madness, as Bev has said quite a few times already.  Heart and star shaped sunglasses are everywhere, rainbow short-shorts and leg warmers, and Eddie swears he saw someone wearing a rainbow flag as a full-body suit.  Earlier, he called Richie to let him know about the theme, sighing on the phone when Richie laughed, sounding a little too delighted about the whole thing. 

"Are you looking for someone?"  Bev asks close to Eddie's ear, her voice raised but still hard to make out over the music.  There are two floors to the club, and the fundraiser station is set up on the top, overlooking the mass of colors and pulsing bodies. 

"I'm not," Eddie replies flatly.  He hopes to keep her from asking him questions about today, but she's been shooting him curious looks all night, he can practically feel her biting her own tongue to keep from bombarding him.  It must be torture for her, but he's not sure he's up to talking about how he's feeling right now.  And besides- they have a dance-off to run later. 

Bev is wearing lime green pants paired with a purple crop top, her hair pinned back by a monstrous pink bow that Eddie is sure she found in the kid section of some retail shop.  "You should enter the dance thing," she says, raising her brows as she brings a beer to her lips and swallows down a mouthful.    

Shaking his head, Eddie sips his identical beer carefully, giving himself a moment to keep his voice under control.  He's nervous, and though he's aware that it has everything to do with Richie he still tries to tell himself he's fine.  And besides, there's no _reason_ to be.  "Nope.  You know I don't dance." 

"I _know_ , you fucking dweeb."  Bev turns to the table beside them and looks over the sign-up list, nodding approvingly.  "Let's do it together." 

" _No_." 

"Eddie!"

He pries the list away from her, holding it away with one hand shoved in her face as she makes a grab for it.  "Not a fucking chance." 

"But who am I supposed to dance with?"

"I don't care, as long it's not _me_!" 

As Bev makes another grab for it Eddie turns around, holding it out and away from his body, giggling when Bev tries to hop on his back and snatch it from him.  People are used to the two of them behaving this way at events, and it does well to promote their on-air relationship, which is mostly the two of them taking digs at each other at every opportunity.  It's fun, mostly, unless Bev decides to go for his weakness and tickle his sides with her long, wriggling fingers- which she does now, earning a yelp from him as he bats her away with his free hand. 

The list is suddenly plucked from his grasp, and Eddie turns around with a glare, ready to demand it back.  But the words die in his throat when he looks up and locks eyes with Richie, the culprit, a smile playing over his lips as he looks down and scans the list with interest. 

"So... what do I get if I win?"  Richie asks, looking up again with a bright grin.  "Or is this one of those things where _everyone_ gets a trophy for participating?" 

Eddie's voice is stuck in his throat as he looks Richie over; red jeans hug his long legs, paired with a fuchsia, open-collar shirt that contrasts well with his pale, freckly skin.  "Hey, Richie," Eddie greets him, a little breathless.  He does his best to ignore his pumping heart as he steps forward with his hand outstretched.

Richie hands the list over, the tips of his fingers grazing Eddie's palm, nails catching for the briefest moment.  "Hey, Eds."  His voice is soft and low, and Eddie almost lets himself get lost as their eyes meet and hold.   

Color rises in Eddie's cheeks, making his face burn embarrassingly.  He looks quickly away.  "Um, this is uh," he moves back and pulls Bev's arm off him, gesturing between the two.  "This is Bev, my co-host.  Bev, this is my friend Richie." 

The corners of Bev's mouth lift in a delighted smile.  "Hi!"  She takes Richie's hand and gives it a strong shake, looking over his shirt with a raised brow.  "That is _very_ bright." 

Richie steps back and looks down at himself, fingers tugging at the front of it as he shrugs indifferently.  "Eds said it was Neon Gay, or something." 

Eddie groans when Bev asks, "Eds?" 

"Yup," Richie says happily, smirking as Eddie starts to wave his hand, a fruitless attempt to get him to stop.  "Back in the day Eddie 'Big-shot radio show host' was better known as _Eds Spagheds_.  Fitting, I think." 

"Eds!"  Bev exclaims, throwing her arm over Eddie's shoulders again.  She puts too much weight into the move and nearly knocks Eddie over.  "I like it!  I'm calling you that on the air from now on." 

Eddie groans again, this time combining it with a dramatic eye-roll.  " _Please_ don't.  I'm begging you." 

"He always hated it," Richie adds, unhelpfully.

Bev lets out a laugh.  "I can see that- ah!  Wait, wait!”  Bev's eyes dart around, searching for something.  Then, she says, plainly.  “I'm picking up something.  My bi-fi is going off.”

"Your bi-fi works well, then," Richie says, gesturing to himself grandly, even dipping slightly into a mock bow.  "Right here." 

Bev wriggles excitedly, smiling wide.  "Ah ha!  Me bi, too!"

"Hell yeah!" 

They high five over their heads, then Bev turns to Eddie with a smug grin.  "See, you biphobe.  We exist.  We are _valid_." 

Eddie tries to hide his smile, failing spectacularly.  “Oh my god.  This is a _nightmare_.”

Stepping forward, Richie takes the list from Eddie once again.  “So, seriously- what do I get if I win this?”  He looks over the list, then his eyes flick up and meet Eddie’s.  “Do I get to take you out on the town?” 

Eddie’s face burns.  “N-No.  No, you don’t get to—“

“Or do I get both?”  Richie glances between the two of them, brows waggling.  “ _That_ would be an awesome night!” 

Bev and Richie both dissolve into laughter while Eddie watches on.  Of course- Richie and Bev are so much alike- why didn’t he see it before?  It’s no wonder he felt at ease with Bev so quickly, why he decided to take a chance on friendship with her, out of everyone who has ever tried to get close to him. 

Eddie takes the list from Richie again, setting it back in place for others to sign, then he gets back to work, talking to people who approach the table, searching for resources for LGBT teens, friends, and even spouses.  Richie sticks close by, talking to both Eddie and Bev, and Eddie finds it easier to be close to him this way, a little less overwhelming.   Bev is a natural buffer between them, keeps his mind on track and away from wandering thoughts.  Away from paying too close attention to the way the pit of his stomach dips each time Richie looks at him, touches him, shoots a wink in his direction.

After an hour or so Eddie's appetite leads him down to the lower floor, where the bar is packed but the drinks and food are coming fast.  Richie follows him, but Bev remains upstairs, waggling her brows at their retreating backs when Eddie glances over his shoulder at her.  He's kept to only one beer tonight, so he chooses water to go along with his feast of pretzels and beer nuts, munching slowly as he hovers near the corner of the bar counter, Richie beside him. 

The shift is palpable now that they are alone, tension thickening as they talk about the horrible music playing and the stumbling people who keep going by them.  Eddie keeps his eyes averted, avoiding Richie's gaze as they lean close together to hear each other a little better. 

"You do a lot of these, right?"  Richie asks, gesturing to the room around them as he grabs a handful of pretzels from Eddie's offered bowl. 

"Yeah, but they're not always at clubs," Eddie says, his back to the dance floor.  "Last night was more the usual."

Richie nods, elbow resting on top of the bar, the rest of his long form angled away from the closest stool.  There's a questioning frown between his brows.  "But you won't dance?" 

"No..." Eddie crosses his arms over his chest, forces himself not to look back at the people on the floor.  "I'm not interested." 

"Why not?" 

It's a simple question, but Eddie cannot provide a simple answer.  He's not even sure of the reason himself.  "I don't know.  It just seems kinda..." he turns, eyes a group close by, all stumbling as they roll their bodies together.  "...weird." 

Richie shakes his head, chuckling to himself in a way that makes Eddie flush, embarrassed.  "Oh my god- do you think it's gross or something?" 

"No!" Eddie says defensively.  No, it's not that.  He's not sure why he's bothered by it, but what he does know is that he doesn't want to look stupid, because he really can't dance at all.  "Why?  Do _you_ like to dance like this?" 

"Not to this shitty music, but yeah." 

A brief image of Richie dancing with some faceless woman pops in his head, unwanted.  "Why aren't you dancing, then?" 

Richie shrugs indifferently, bringing a beer he’s been sipping for a while to his lips.  “I want to see _you_ dance.” 

“No.” 

The music starts to shift then, the DJ’s voice ringing out over the speakers as he announces that he’s taking things back a couple decades.  The first few beats of _Expose’s_ “Point of No Return” begins, and Eddie knows he’s lost when Richie gives him a wide, excited grin.   

“Eds!”

“No.” 

“But you _love_ this song!” 

“Ughh,” Eddie groans, letting Richie take his beer and set it on the bar.  “So?  It doesn’t mean I want to dance to it!” 

“C’mon, just _one_ song,” Richie pleads, pushing his bottom lip out pathetically.  “Please?” 

Son of a bitch.  Eddie sighs, nods, then allows himself to be pulled on to the floor. 

It’s almost too crowded to do anything, but Richie finds a less congested spot between a group of girls all dressed in purple overalls and a couple who are swaying awkwardly together, arms tangled together.  As Richie turns to face him, Eddie pushes down the nerves threatening to overcome him, standing uncertainly as Richie starts to move around, blending in with the people around them effortlessly. 

He has no fucking clue what to do; he’s helpless as Richie moves in close, reaching out and taking hold of Eddie’s stiff upper arms.  Some of what he’s feeling must show on his face, because Richie suddenly starts guiding him, a subtle push and pull that barely moves him.  “Just move with it,” he says, almost shouts to be heard over the bass.

Eddie lets out a rushed breath.  “I don’t know how to do this!”  He says, then inhales sharply when Richie’s hands move lower and take hold of his hips. 

“There’s no right way,” Richie says, directing Eddie’s hips with his wide, hot palms.  “Just _feel_ it.” 

Maybe Eddie should feel more embarrassed by this, but there’s something in Richie’s eyes that keeps him from bolting, gets him to start moving and letting the music wash over him.  He doesn’t want to look away, but his eyes fall closed on their own, his shoulders following the rhythm, and then it’s like something just _clicks_.

He thought breaking away from his mom would be the most freeing thing he’s ever done, but no.  No- that’s _completely_ wrong.  As he keeps going with the beat, letting his body lead him along in ways he never thought it could, a whole new set of his inhibitions are released.  Eddie is a natural stick in the mud, never wants to let his guard down or risk looking like an idiot in any way- but there’s something about this that pulls the covers off, shakes away the insecurities that have always lurked under his skin.

Before he knows it, another song is playing, and he’s still on the floor with Richie, grinning as they get closer and closer, Richie’s hands drifting around his middle, hovering uncertainly.  He’s not sure what the hell has gotten into him, but he just doesn’t care to keep the distance between them.  Caution is thrown to the wind as they gaze intensely at one another, Eddie’s hands coming up and resting over Richie’s shoulders, fingers kneading at the muscles as the crying guitar intro to “When Doves Cry” kicks in over the speakers. 

Everything else falls away, Eddie’s heart beating hard and fast as sweat beads over his skin, runs down the small of his back, Richie’s hands landing on his waist and squeezing at his sides.  He can’t look away from Richie’s lips, mesmerized, his fingers creeping up and over the back of Richie’s neck, slipping up and into his messy hair.  Fuck- _fuck_.  A little bit of sense finds him when he tightens his grip on the curls and Richie hisses, his hips pressing in to meet Eddie’s, a sweet, _sweet_ grind that nearly leaves him breathless.

This isn’t how things are supposed to go.  Eddie bites back a whine when Richie’s fingers dig into his hips, and he pulls Richie down and rests their sweaty foreheads together.  “ _Oh_ _god_ ,” he says, closing his eyes against Richie’s endless stare, a little bit of self-preservation that does absolutely nothing to keep him from opening them up again. 

“Eddie,” Richie breathes when their eyes meet again, nosing closer, dipping down to do something stupid and crazy, like bring their mouths together.

Eddie is suddenly knocked sideways, stumbling as a man loses his footing, hauling his very drunk friend off the floor.  He calls out an apology over the music, but Eddie brushes him off, recovering quickly as Richie steadies him with a strong grip on his shoulders. 

“You okay?”  Richie asks, slowly running his palms up and down Eddie’s arms. 

“Y-Yeah…”

And just like that, Eddie comes entirely to his senses, a hot swell of shame rushing through him all at once.  What… what the hell is he thinking?  What the hell is he _doing_? 

He turns wide eyes on Richie and starts to back away, releasing his hold on Richie’s arms, limbs trembling slightly.  “I should uh- I should go help uh, Bev with the-“

Richie reaches out for him fingers missing Eddie’s elbow by inches.  “Eds, wait, listen-“

But Eddie doesn’t wait for whatever it is he has to say.  He hurries away, slipping between the group of girls in the purple overalls and heading off in the direction of the bathrooms, nearly an exact repeat of the night before.  He pushes his way through the dancing crowd, willing his stupid heart to calm down and stop beating crazily.  It’s no use, though.  It hammers away inside him, his mind unhelpfully replaying the last few minutes over and over in his head- Richie’s dark eyes staring into him, hands tightening over Eddie’s hips, pulling him closer, closer, _closer_ -

Eddie locks himself in the men’s restroom, tries to reel his feelings in, push them back down where they belong, buried beneath everything else.  It’s useless, though.  This whole thing was a huge mistake; he should have run the other way last night, should have listened to the voice in his head telling him he’s not equipped to handle this.  He’s not strong enough.  He’s _never_ been strong enough when it comes to Richie.

As Eddie clings to the sink and takes some deep breaths, he ignores the ache in his chest, the longing to get back out there and take what he wants.  This renewed friendship isn’t going to work, and he has to accept that, no matter what his stupid heart is telling him. 

When he’s calm enough to show his face he leaves the restroom with one thought on his mind; he is so fucking screwed. 

 


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry this took forever. I've had plenty of time to develop the story a bit more so I hope you like what is to come. Also note that this is now four chapters long (four parts). And please note the new tags.

It’s a little after noon on Sunday. The weather is unsettled, rain hitting the large windows in Eddie’s sitting room when the sun was out only an hour ago.   The constantly shifting clouds match his mood nicely, he thinks. On one hand, it’s a relief to get all these things off his chest. On the other, he’s a little ashamed to paint the picture of the weak person he used to be. Bev is a blessing, never interrupting him or asking questions until he pauses longer than it takes to breathe or take a sip of his coffee.   He’s not sure he can tell anyone else these things so freely, now that he’s allowing himself to, and he’s struck by how damn grateful he is to have Bev in his life.

The alcoholism is an ugly thing to tell, but he does it, in a mostly even voice while he drags the pads of his fingers over the fabric of the sofa beneath him. There’s a look in Bev’s eyes that, to someone else, might appear to be pity.   Eddie sees it for what it is, accepting her sympathy and holding it close to his chest, allowing it to soothe the raw places inside of him, and give him courage to continue. He tells her about the hangovers that he stopped getting, the sick feeling in his stomach when he tried to cut back and couldn’t handle the shaking in his hands. He tells her about the weakness and the vomiting, on his knees in a cold bathroom while his body heaved and forced stomach acid into the back of his throat, no food to eject because he didn’t eat much then. She winces when he talks about the way his mind would spin circles obsessively, calculating, planning his next drink until it became a stash shoved in the back of his closet. And he tells her much more, careful not to get too deep into his feelings, sparing details that aren’t necessary and cutting himself off when he feels tension tightening in his stomach.

Then he tells her about Richie. It’s much harder, but he does it by keeping his eyes mostly fixed on his lap, or past Bev’s shoulder, fingers twisting together where they’re clasped and resting on his thighs. It’s a mess of words and explanations, excuses and confusion, just as the relationship between them always was, and he’s sure he’s made himself out to look more pathetic than he is. There’s no other way to put it- he was in love with Richie for so _long_ \- for the tail-end of his childhood and the entirety of his teen years Eddie _wanted_ him. _Ached_ for him. Hoped for a chance he knew he would never have, because Richie has always been a person of mystery. Almost untouchable.

The first thing Bev does is reach out and pull him close to her chest, winding her arms around his shoulders as she says, "Thank you for sharing all of that with me, babe."

Eddie sighs against her shoulder, where he rests his forehead in a pointless attempt to hide his face. It's not the weightless feeling that he was hoping for that fills him then, but a shift of the heavy stones that he's carried with him all these years. They move and settle in new places, still painful, but a little less raw. A little more tolerable. Maybe if he had opened up sooner he would be better equipped to deal with meeting Richie again. As it is he feels like a child, stumbling along in the unknown heartache, searching for any solution that will make these things go away.

They end up in the kitchen. Eddie's appetite flares from emotional exhaustion. It's the kind of gray, dull day that calls for the warm, melty comfort of a grilled cheese sandwich, so he pulls out the cheese block and tells Bev to get grating, smiling a little when she brings her phone out and sets it on the counter. A song starts playing low- something by Stevie Nicks, he thinks, and they slip into a rhythm beside each other as Eddie butters the bread beside the stove.

As Bev starts moving her hips, she bumps into him and grins. "Can I ask you something?"

Eddie nods, setting the first two pieces of bread in the hot pan. "What?"

The sizzling of the butter and the dance beat to the song are the only sounds in the kitchen for a moment. The pause feels longer than it probably is, and Eddie braces himself for whatever she's going to say. She didn't say much about the alcohol, just hugged him and told him that he's amazing for fighting off such a thing on his own, with no help from anyone. She's yet to make any comments about Richie.

"Are you going to cut him off again?"

He should. For the sake of his ignorant heart he should lose Richie's number and never look back. But... he _can't_ just walk away. Not again. Not after all these stupid years of wondering and regretting. "No. I don't know. Should I?"

Bev moves over to the fridge and pulls the door open, snags a coke off the rack on the top shelf and pops the top. “I have a half-ass opinion, dollface," she takes a quick drink, standing right in front of the fridge with the door wide open.   "But I don't know if you'll want to hear it."

Eddie hesitates, giving himself a moment to answer as he flips the bread and spreads shredded cheese over the browned sides.   She's right, but Eddie is an adult, dammit. He can handle some truth thrown at him. "Okay," he says finally, shifting to the right as Bev dances her way over to the counter.   "Tell me anyway."

Bev thrusts her hip out, catching him on the side as she rests against the edge of the counter. "I'd tell you to handle your shit like a big boy, but fuck that."

Eddie can't agree more. "So- what, then?"

She sets her coke down, giving him a long, slow look. "I don't think you want to."

It's a bitch to admit, but it's true. He avoids her eyes, keeping his gaze fixed on the flame under the pan. "I don't."

Bev shows no sign of judgment. She smiles gently, wraps an arm around his shoulders and rests her temple against his. "Let it play out. See what happens."

Scoffing, Eddie slides the first sandwich on a waiting plate and sets the other in the pan. "Wow. ' _Let it play out_ '. Thanks- and people pay you for all that sage advice?"  

Bev snorts and moves behind him to grab her phone off the other side of the counter. "I am a dehydrated fountain of wisdom. What can I say?"

"Tell me to be careful," Eddie says, wincing at the harsh truth behind the brashly spoken words. He dials the tension back with an embarrassed laugh.   "I mean... you know. I _should_ be careful. Probably."

Setting her phone back down, Bev stands behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, hooking her chin over his shoulder.   "Yes, you should," she says, her voice dipping low into a softer tone. "I can't give you a real opinion about the guy. I just met him last night."

Eddie sighs and flips the sandwich over.   "I know."

"But I saw you two dancing."

A steady warmth grows and fills his face as he recalls last night. He's never danced like that with anyone, and never imagined he would, especially not with Richie. But damn- he can't deny that it was incredible, even if it was overwhelming to be pressed so close together, their hips touching and Richie's hands landing on his waist, fingers curling in his shirt as he tugged Eddie impossibly close. A shiver runs through him as he pictures Richie's eyes, staring right into him, pulling everything out to the surface and dragging Eddie deeper into this forever lingering thing.  

"He definitely tried to kiss you," Bev says, and something in Eddie's stomach twists. "So... he does want you. In some capacity."

" _In some capacity_? Wow."  

He feels her shrug against him.   "Well, I don't know if it's strictly sexual or if it's something more."

A sliver of hope takes root in Eddie's chest, but he pulls it back out. "He's always been like that, though. It doesn't mean anything."

"He's tried to kiss you _before_?"

"When he was drunk or high, yeah."

"Ah. The dilemma emerges."

"He used to do a lot of things," Eddie says, vague. "Why is this shit so hard?   I don't know what to do."

Bev lets out an exaggerated sigh. "You could fuck him? See how that goes."  

" _Bev_!"

"Just a test drive," she grins, patting his shoulder before she moves away. "At least you'll know if he's good in bed."

Eddie's face burns as Bev giggles hysterically, but he finds himself smiling in return. "You _psycho_. No fucking way!"

"Oh, c'mon, my love!" She moves her hips into an obscene grind, singing something ridiculous about _graining on the wood_ as Eddie presses his lips together to keep from laughing.

The T-Mobile jingle starts blaring from the table in the corner of the kitchen, and Eddie groans, gesturing with his elbow for Bev to get it. "Might be Janna from Pride."

" _Hellloooo_ ," Bev sings into the phone, smiling when Eddie rolls his eyes and flips the burner off. "Oh, hi _Richie_! Yeah, this is Bev."

Eddie immediately abandons the pan and holds his hand out to take the phone from her, fingers shaking slightly.   "Here."  

"Oh- you want to talk to him? Sorry, he's resting. He begged me to peg him last night and I couldn’t say no.”

"BEV!"

She turns around when he approaches her from behind, phone still pressed to her ear. "Yeah, didn't you know? I'm the exception-" she turns to the side, trying to shove Eddie away as he reaches around her. "He can't pass on my cookie-"

He snags the phone away from her, glaring hard as she holds on to the edge of the table and cackles. "What the hell?"

"Oh my god. _Relax_." She reaches out and squeezes his shoulder, gesturing to the phone. " _Talk_ to him."

Eddie heads into the living room to hide, shooting her a dirty look over his shoulder as he disappears through the doorway.   He takes a quick breath before he brings the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

" _Hey, Eds_ ," Richie greets slowly, and Eddie closes his eyes as he leans back against the wall to the left of the front door, dropping his head back against the hard surface. “ _How’s it uh- how’s it going_?”  

It's ridiculous that Eddie considers how he wants to sound before he speaks. Casual and calm, maybe? Indifferent? There’s an underlying strain to Richie’s tone that sets Eddie a little on edge, so he forces a calming breath through his nose. “Fine.   Having lunch with Bev.”

The sound of Richie’s awkward laugh caresses something in Eddie’s chest- a knot that’s refusing to come loose. “ _She seemed pretty cool last night. She’s your best friend now, huh?”_

“She is,” is all Eddie can bring himself to say for a moment, the voice in his head screaming at him to hurry up and get off the phone, or risk being lured back in. His heart is already leaping at this bit of conversation, at this small opportunity to find a way to see Richie again. “What, um.“ Eddie takes a breath and runs his free palm down and over his lips, then goes on, keeping his voice tight. “What’s up?”

“ _I wanted to check on you,_ ” Richie says quickly, then hurries on with, “ _You ran off pretty quick. Didn’t know you wanted to get away from me that bad.”_

A nervous chuckle drifts through the speaker, and Eddie recognizes this self-deprecating avoidance from Richie’s past behavior. Seems it’s something he’s never stopped doing. Eddie’s heart lurches, a familiar reaction when it comes to Richie, and it’s downhill from there. “I don’t,” he says softly, sighing as he sinks against the wall and opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “I wasn’t feeling well. I just needed to get out of the crowd.”

Eddie’s sure it sounds like bullshit, but Richie either doesn’t care, or accepts it as it is, because he sounds lighter suddenly.   More like himself. “ _Oh damn.   You feeling okay now? Do you need anything, or is Beverly going to give you another pegging and call it a day?”_

Eddie smothers a smile and a laugh. “You’re just jealous she isn’t pegging _you_ , asshole.”

Richie laughs, and Eddie’s chest flutters. Of course- Richie’s stupid jokes and his stupid laugh, the stupidly beautiful smile that Eddie can close his eyes and imagine clearly- there’s no pretending he can walk away.

Once Richie is calm he asks Eddie if they can get together some time during the week, to which Eddie is tempted to say no, but his mouth goes off and he’s agreeing to text and make plans. It’s pathetic.

Eddie is quick to get off the phone, giving Richie a rushed, breathless goodbye that leaves him feeling even worse. He heads back into the kitchen, shoulders sagging and weighing him down as he drops his phone on the table in the corner, then plops down in the closest chair.

Bev swoops in like an angel with a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

No. He’s not.   “Yeah.” He gives her a short smile. “I’m fine.”

He’s pretty sure she can see right through him, but she lets it go, and they sit down together and stuff their faces with grilled cheese and a bag of Doritos Bev presents with a wide grin.

Eddie’s phone buzzes a few times on the table, but he ignores it.

* * *

 

The black Crown Vic Eddie saw at the coffee shop is parked right out front of the music store. It’s got to be Richie’s car. When they were in high school, Richie’s dad helped him buy an old truck that had little bed room and even less cab space, and Richie drove that thing into the ground. After that came the 97 Taurus; a beat-up Ford that broke down more than anything, but Richie still loved it, and babied it until right before he moved away to LA.  

It seems his love for older vehicles hasn’t changed. The Crown Vic is easily a 2000, maybe 02, with a silver plaque on the trunk that spells out _Interceptor._ Eddie hasn’t been under a hood for a while, but he knows these police versions are powerful as hell, with extra supportive suspension and a cooling system to cry for. The cars were made to go fast for long periods of time; he can’t picture Richie driving anything else.

He convinces himself to get out of his own car much sooner this time. It’s Tuesday, and he just got off the air about an hour ago. The sun is out, but it’s partially hidden by a string of patchy clouds that never seem to move on, blocking out what little warmth would rescue the extra chilly day. Eddie shivers as he pushes the door open and slips his phone in the pocket of his jacket, his throat threatening to close as he locks up and heads across the small parking lot.

It all feels so… date-like. Eddie’s phone has been going off much more over the past two days than it has over the last four years. Richie sends him links to songs and videos constantly, and Eddie keeps finding himself with his thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he clicks out reply after reply. Bev’s been kicking him under the table in the booth since yesterday, because each time his damn phone chimes he reaches for it no matter what he’s doing. It’s always Richie.

“God, you’re _smitten_ ,” she said to him before they parted ways earlier, but she was smiling. “You’re so damn cute when you’re into a guy. _Gag_.”

Eddie pulls the glass door open, eyeing the _Come in- We’re Open_ sign hanging in the window.   Warmth washes over his cold cheeks as he steps inside and looks around. It looks just like the kind of music stores Richie used to drag him to when they were young, with guitars and keyboards and drum kits on display. A song is playing softly from behind the counter, where a radio is pushed to the glass edge. The air smells strongly of metal, sweet oils, and pizza.

There isn’t anyone around, so Eddie goes over to a keyboard set up on a raised platform, and he gently touches the highest white key. It pings much louder than he’s expecting, surprising him into almost dropping his keys.   He doesn’t know much about this stuff, not the way Richie always has. He remembers the piano pressed up against the wall in the living room in the Tozier house, where Richie’s dad would play on the weekends while Richie would beg for Went to teach him. They were in sixth grade when Richie finally started teaching himself, spending long evenings transfixed at the bench. God, Eddie was so jealous then, of the piano for stealing Richie’s attention, of Richie’s talent as he got better and better in so little time. That all wore away as they got older and Richie’s interests shifted to strings, leaving the piano to grow dusty and forgotten.

“Hey.”

Turning around, Eddie takes a step back when he finds Richie standing close- much closer than he's prepared for. There’re a couple feet of space between them, and when Eddie looks up and meets Richie's dark gaze, his greeting comes out more like a swoon. "Hey..."

The corner of Richie's mouth quirks up in a shy grin, one that Eddie remembers was a rare occurrence when they were younger.   It used to make Eddie's stomach twist in on itself, make his heart skip a bit and his palms itch to reach out and touch. It elicits the same reaction in Eddie's skin, though he can't tell if the effect is as strong as it used to be.

Richie pushes his glasses up his nose as he gestures to the entirety of the store, his curls springy and tight today as they bounce with the movement of his neck. "Paradise. I bet your little booth is stuffy compared to this, huh?"

Eddie shrugs, but it's true most of the time.   When the heat is on it makes him sweaty and grumpy, but it's not the biggest inconvenience. "This looks like heaven for you. I bet you screw off on the instruments all day."

Chuckling, Richie moves past him, stepping up on the platform and dropping down on a stool placed in front of the keyboard. His uniform is simple; a black buttoned shirt paired with black jeans, but the _touches-of-Richie_ stick out boldly. The knees are ripped, and he has two black studs in his earlobes, piercings Eddie didn't notice last night or the night before. The little bisexual pride charm hangs proudly in the center of his chest, and Eddie pulls his eyes away from it as Richie starts telling him about the store and what his days are like. Richie invited him to come by yesterday, but he didn’t have the nerve. Today, he isn't feeling much braver, but the little ache in his chest has been nagging at him since Sunday, and his damn feelings won’t let him pass up a chance to see Richie again.

Eddie looks around as Richie trails off, his eyes falling to the space between them. The platform isn’t very high, maybe a few inches off the ground, and it puts Richie a bit above eye-level from him. “You’re here alone?” Eddie asks, taking a step closer, the toe of his shoe grazing the raised edge.

Richie nods and curls his fingers over the keys, pressing down on a few chords and moving through some interesting progressions.   “There hasn’t been much going on around here. In LA the store was _always_ packed.” Richie starts playing a song Eddie recognizes but can’t name as he goes on, a wrinkle forming between his brows. “Kids dragging their parents in to start a band, and teens gawking at the electrics and drumkits. It’s kinda, I don’t know,” Richie stops, considers something for a moment, then goes on as he starts a whole new song. “It’s sad.”

For so long Richie was passionate about music, acting, and everything entertainment related, but he’d always kept most of it to himself. Even around Eddie he was careful, unless he happened to be drinking and couldn’t hold it all in.   His voice would gain an edge of heat or intensity as he went on about people who didn’t understand the heart in music and writing, in singing and acting. But, when sober, Richie would lock it all down, thoughts shining in his eyes though he’d bite his tongue and hang his head.

“It’s a poor city,” Eddie reminds him gently, clenching his fist when his fingers itch to squeeze Richie’s shoulder.   “Most parents around here can’t afford this stuff.”

“That’s true,” Richie admits, and his hands stutter to a stop. “I just wish the schools could buy more instruments, you know? So kids can at least have a _chance_. _They_ can decide if it’s something they want.”   Richie sighs, begins another song.   “I think an outside program would be cool. Something more affordable and flexible.” He pauses, laughing nervously as he pops his knuckles, then starts to play again.   “Probably sounds stupid, huh?”

The intro to “With or Without You” fills the space around them, and Eddie’s insides melt a little at the self-consciousness in Richie’s demeanor. “No, it doesn’t. It sounds awesome,” he says, and chokes back the rest of what he wants to say.

Richie eyes him doubtfully, but there’s a sliver of hope in his voice. “Yeah?”  

Eddie’s reply is instant. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Smiling, Richie shoots him a shy glance.   “Thanks,” he says, quietly, gratefully, and then he starts to hum the first verse to the song.

All Eddie can do is watch, fascinated, as Richie plays on and loses himself in the music, eyes falling closed as his hands move so fluidly. God- how can Richie be so unaware of the effect he has on Eddie? He must know, or at least suspect. If he would just _look_ over he would see that Eddie can’t take his eyes off him, can’t stop watching and _wanting_ , falling more and more, hopeless. It must be obvious, and he’s not sure how, but he _knows_ his eyes are flooding with everything he’s feeling. He clenches his jaw as Richie’s lips part and he begins to sing the words instead, tightening his fists down at his sides to keep an unsteady hand on his self-control.

“ _…the storm we reach the shore. You give it all, but I want more. And I’m waiting for you_ …”

Richie’s voice is rough and low. Eddie shivers where he stands, sucks in a breath when Richie’s eyes meet his and hold, and Richie keeps singing. Keeps on digging deeper and deeper, his voice following the flow of the lyrics, swelling and pulling back, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

“… _with or without you. Without or without you- I can’t live with or without you_ …”

Just as Eddie thinks he might do something stupid, a bright, tinkling melody comes from Richie’s pocket, cutting off his singing abruptly.

Eddie breathes normally again when Richie looks away and digs his phone out, all the air he had been holding in coming out in a long, deep breath.

“Oh boy,” Richie says, swiping his thumb across the screen and lifting the phone to his ear with a grin. Loftily, he greets, “ _Hello, hello_ , mother-of-mine. I didn’t do it. I _swear_.”

Stepping away to give Richie some privacy, Eddie tries to calm his heart from its elevated rate, catching the subtle sound of a woman’s voice coming from the phone. He smiles as he fondly remembers Maggie Tozier. She was always ready with a bright smile and wide, welcoming arms when he would head to Richie’s house, angry and eager to escape his own mother and home. There was something inherently comforting about her and her presence, her soft voice when he was sad and her chipper tone when he was mad, soothing the sharp edges of his rage and despair. If there is a second mother to Eddie out in the world, it is undoubtedly this woman.  

“Yeah. _Yeah_ , I’m not shitting you! He’s right here.” Richie gestures to Eddie to come closer, and Eddie mouths _What?_ at him as Richie tells his mom to hold on and shoves the phone at him. “She wants to say hi to you,” Richie explains, grinning.

Surprised, Eddie gingerly takes the phone from Richie’s grasp, raises a questioning brow at him. “She remembers me?”

Richie gives him a bewildered look. “No shit, yeah.”

Hesitantly, Eddie brings the phone to his ear, greeting Richie’s mom awkwardly. “Um… hello?”

“ _Eddie!   Oh my god, sweetheart! How are you_?”

Eddie smiles, and within minutes he’s lost in catching up with her. She wants to know if he’s really on the radio, because Richie still has a habit of stretching the truth, and he confirms that in this case, Richie is telling the whole truth. It’s great to hear her voice again, and as he drifts off toward a display of electrics near the corner of the store, he can’t stop laughing as she tells him about how excited Richie was to tell her that he had run into Eddie.

“ _He’s still an idiot_!” She exclaims, though there’s a hint of fondness in her voice that Eddie shares.   “ _But he’s been wonderful since Went passed. I didn’t expect him to come back, but I’m really glad he did.   He was miserable out there, anyway_.”

Heart sinking, Eddie pauses briefly, then says, “I’m really sorry to hear about Mr. Tozier.”

Maggie is grateful- he can hear it in her tone as she pushes past the subject with a heartfelt word of thanks and goes on to ask him about his love life. A sound distracts him- the chime of a phone going off- and Eddie turns around to see Richie at the counter, pulling something out of his pocket that looks a lot like a phone.

Eddie watches as Richie disappears into the back room, his voice only carrying slightly, not loud enough to catch anything he's saying. Two phones…? It’s probably a work phone.   Eddie has considered getting a separate phone for work and his time spent volunteering, but he hasn't come up with enough reasons to drag himself down to the nearest store and go through the entire process.

Richie comes back out after several minutes, and he immediately makes his way over to Eddie, just in time for Maggie to ask him to put Richie back on. " _If I don't remind him to come by my house tonight he'll forget! That boy still forgets everything_."

Eddie hands the phone over, fingers brushing Richie's, and he wanders off as Richie says goodbye to his mom, exasperatedly telling her yes, he will be there tonight. No, he didn't forget, really.

"She has no faith in me," Richie says to him as he comes over to where Eddie is, studying the delicate strings on a violin displayed close to the large front window. "But I guess she's right. I totally forgot about going over there tonight."

"She sounds good," Eddie says, stepping back as Richie removes the violin from its holder and slides the bow off the back, where it is strapped along the body. He watches as Richie tightens a few of the strings, then slides the bow over the hollow space, creating a smooth, dark sound he’s wasn’t expecting.

"She's doing a lot better," Richie says, tucking the end of the violin tight against his neck. He lowers his chin and starts to play, sliding the bow across the strings and moving his fingers smoothly over the neck. It’s a melody that Eddie doesn’t recognize, but it sounds like it belongs in a movie, maybe during a tragic scene. “Before I moved back she would call me _all the time_ ,” Richie says. “Like, several times a day.” He stops speaking for several minutes, a rich, deep tune filling the space around them. Eddie listens, frowning at the sad, weary tone, wondering if this is the kind of thing Richie plays now, when he used to play almost nothing but showtunes and come up with his own catchy pieces, things Eddie would find himself humming at random moments throughout the day.

“What is that?” He asks tentatively, not wanting to disrupt the flow as Richie sways slightly.

Richie answers with an accent. “ _Fuori dal mondo_ by Ludovico Einaudi. I’ve been really into his stuff lately.”

Eddie has never heard of him. “It’s beautiful.”

A sad smile curls Richie’s lips, and he stops playing, inspecting the bow as he suddenly heads toward the counter.   “What are you doing for your birthday?   It’s on Friday, right?”

The sudden change catches Eddie off guard, but he follows Richie. “Uh, yeah,” he says, not quite able to believe Richie remembers the day. “But I’m not doing anything.”

“Why not?”

Shrugging, Eddie rests his elbows on the countertop, leaning over slightly when Richie ducks down and reaches for something in the display. “Bev and I usually go to San Fran for our birthdays, but we can't both take the day off.”

Richie nods, standing up with a small tube with a twist-off top clutched between his fingers. There’re a few tense moments where Richie doesn’t say anything, grabbing a rag and some paper towels from somewhere just out of sight as he starts examining the polished wood of the violin.

Just when Eddie starts to think that maybe he should get going, Richie breaks the silence, quietly, without looking up from what he’s doing. “ _We_ could go. If you want.”

It sounds like a vague offer, but Eddie can read between the lines of Richie well enough; he hasn’t lifted his gaze to make any eye contact, keeping his hands busy as he lowers his head and draws the bow over the strings. It's a genuine request, one that Eddie is sure is a bad idea to accept, but he finds himself nodding anyway, ignoring that voice in the back of his mind that keeps telling him to ditch as fast as he can.

"Yeah, sure," Eddie says, his insides swooping when Richie glances up at him with his stupid, charming smile.   "Um. Since it's been raining, we might be stuck indoors."

"I don't mind the rain," Richie says, mirroring Eddie's position and leaning in, bringing their faces too close together.   "You don't either."

Flushing, Eddie maintains steady eye contact, grinding his teeth as he nods. "Yeah, I- I don't mind it."

Richie's smile grows wide. "Okay. It's a date. But don't expect me to put out on the first night. I'm not that kind of man."

"Oh my _god_ ," Eddie groans, pushing away from the counter with his face hot.   "You're ridiculous."

Laughing, Richie gestures to himself, arching a brow as he lets out a low whistle. "I'm a little irresistible."

Fighting a smile, Eddie crosses his arms over his chest, feigning annoyance. "So arrogant. So egotistical.   Definitely resistible."

"So _hot_ ," Richie sighs, standing up straight and stretching his arms over his head. "Don't lie to yourself.   It's not healthy."

Eddie leaves shortly after that, smiling stupidly as he makes his way to his car, ignoring the warning spreading through his skin. It's ridiculous, but it feels like he just got asked out, even though every last brain cell he has is working overtime to try and make him understand that _no_ , this isn't a date or anything. It's just a day with a friend. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that they didn't used to do together.

He pulls the car door open and looks back, observing the front of the store for a moment before he gets in and leaves.

* * *

 

**Nine years earlier**

 

It's cold. The wind picks up around him, lifting the red and yellow leaves by their curled corners as he hurries through the piles spilling over the sidewalk.   The end of October is a few days away, but the biting chill of winter has arrived much sooner than usual, stinging Eddie's face as he keeps his arms crossed tightly over his chest and power walks through a green light. He ignores the cars that are whizzing by down the main road. The streetlights are dim and failing, but he keeps on going, shivering with every heavy step and breath.

He shouldn't have stormed out of his house without a sweater, but he couldn't stay there. Not with his mother on his ass about a stupid pamphlet she found in his room for a school in the Bay. _He's_ the one who should be angry, because she was snooping through his room _again_ , going through the stack of papers on his desk while he was in class earlier this morning. And he is- he's _pissed_ \- but the only thing he can think to do right now is head to his best friend’s house and hide for the rest of the night.

Eddie smiles as he turns a corner and enters Richie’s neighborhood, imagining what the hell Richie is up to right now. It has to be one of two things- he’s either playing the new video game he’s been obsessed with over the past few weeks, or sitting on the roof with his guitar like some kind of hippie, singing to himself in the dark. Either way, Eddie will join him, as he always does.

His hair is falling in his eyes, grown far past the cutting point and dangling around his ears and jaw, curling just enough to flop around as he jogs to make it through the gate surrounding Richie's neighborhood before it slides closed. Goose pimples erupt all up and down his legs, and though it's partially from the cold, he knows it's also from the sight that greets him as he saunters up the front lawn of the Tozier house.

A silhouette is on the low roof, the soft twang of a guitar cutting through the dark silence as the scent of tobacco smoke wrinkles Eddie's nose. Damn hippie. The piles of leaves on the grass are strewn every which way, and Eddie's shoes crackle over the brittle texture, alerting the figure on the roof to his presence.

"Halt," Richie's voice rings out, and Eddie catches the glow of the end of the cigarette hanging from Richie's lips, his words muffled slightly as he begins to strum a string of chords. "Is that an Eddie Kaspbrak I see? I think my four eyes have deceived me."

"You're seeing right, genius," Eddie quips, but there's no bite to his words. He's exhausted and irritable and wants nothing more than to climb up there and forget about his mom and her insanity. “I’m coming up.”

"Oh, are you? Thought you were going to sit down there and watch me all night.”

Eddie flips him off, then goes over to the ladder beside Richie's open window and hoists himself up, cringing at the rough, splintered wood as a sliver pricks the center of his palm. The front light is off, but the streetlamp on the corner provides just enough of a glow for Eddie to see where to put his hands and feet.   It's a short climb, one that Eddie has been doing since he was tall enough for Richie to reach over the edge and pull him up by his arms. He used to cry when Richie would scramble up the ladder without him, back when he was too short to touch the edge and Richie’s arms weren’t long enough to help him.  

Dusting his hands off, he winces at the splinter he can feel embedded in his skin, and plops down next to Richie with a deep sigh.   “Shoot me.”

Richie chuckles, plucking at the strings quickly.   “I prefer you living.”

“ _Ugh_.”  

“Oh no. Not _ugh_.”

The temptation to vent is strong, and Eddie knows Richie will listen without fail, but he doesn’t want to talk about his mom right now. His eyes stray to Richie’s fingers sliding over the frets, the way they move so easily and confidently as he repeats the song he’s been working on over the past few weeks.   “How’s it going?”

Richie shrugs, his head moving slightly as his fingers trip up. “Mediocre.   Two out of ten.”

Ridiculous. Eddie hasn’t been able to get the melody out of his head since he first heard it.   “It’s _not_ mediocre. Why are you saying that?”

“It’s crap,” is all Richie says before he switches up to “Snow” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, a song he’s been obsessed with for the past couple months. Eddie watches him steadily, eyeing the way Richie’s brow furrows, the way his shoulders dip forward slightly as he starts to hum the first verse. It’s an acoustic, so the strumming intro isn’t as sharp as it is in the song, but it still sounds incredible. He’d shave a few years off his lifespan to possess a sliver of Richie’s talent, and he doesn’t even care which talent it is.   It’s amazing how little Richie sees of himself, when Eddie sees the endless potential and bright future stretching out before him. If he puts his mind to it, Richie can do anything he wants to. From acting to singing, to killing the guitar on stage or sitting passionately at a piano- there’s no limit.

Richie’s hands come to a stop, along with his distant humming, and then he turns and looks at Eddie curiously, eyes large and deep behind his smudged lenses. “Your mom flip on you?”

Eddie avoids his eyes and nods, dropping his gaze to the pick hanging loose between Richie’s fingers. “It sounds good,” he says, gesturing to the wooden body.   “Did you finish writing it?”

Shrugging again, Richie starts the song over, but this time the sound swells, and Eddie can see his confidence growing as he sits up a little straighter and starts to sing.

_“Are you coming with me? Leave this town behind and head to the city. I’ll take you up in the sky and give you everything. Just say you’re coming with me. That you want to be free…”_

Something drops heavily in the pit of Eddie’s stomach.   It’s a damn love song. He hasn’t asked Richie who it’s about, and Richie hasn’t volunteered that information. The chorus isn’t entirely worked out, and neither is the second verse, and so Richie just moves on, humming and singing a few disconnected lines.  

“ _Just come with me. Get in the car we’re going to heaven. I don’t believe in the place.   But when I look at your face I think it might be true. But come with me…”_

Richie stops singing, stops playing, and his eyes lift and meet Eddie’s quite suddenly. It’s one of _those_ moments, when Eddie can’t look away, and can’t allow himself to say anything, because he might spill _everything._ And he’s held it all in for so long, he’s gone through the scary realization that Richie is _more,_ and that if he so much as breathes a syllable of what he feels, their friendship can come crashing down.

“That was good,” Eddie says at last, swallowing when Richie grins crookedly and tosses his hair back out of his face.   “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie nods, eyes falling to Richie’s lips briefly.   "Yeah..." his voice comes out embarrassingly breathy, so he clears his throat and looks away, folding his hands together in his lap. "It's great."

A car alarm goes off nearby, followed by some shouting, and then Richie gets to his feet suddenly and starts heading down the ladder. "Let's take a walk," he says, holding on to his guitar with one hand and the top rung with the other.

Eddie follows him, rolling his eyes when he feels another damn splinter prick his skin and embed itself in his thumb.   Richie disappears into his window for a few moments, and then climbs back out with a dark jacket on and a blue, hooded sweater bundled in his arms. They step on the grass and start off, and Richie shakes the sweater out a few times, sniffs it cautiously, then holds it out to Eddie.

"I'm fine," Eddie says, though he takes it gratefully and starts to pull it over his head.

"Just wear it," Richie says, a new cigarette hanging from his lips and a lighter flicking to life in his palm. His voice is muffled around the butt as he says, "You're always cold."

The damn thing smells so much like Richie, and though Eddie tries not to breathe in the scent, he ends up inhaling a good whiff of it anyway. It's tobacco smoke and soap- laundry soap- and it's the most comforting thing in the world to him. He's had full on anxiety attacks that have been calmed by that scent, with Richie's arms around him, his nose against Richie's shirt collar and throat, taking deep breaths as Richie's fingers scratch at the nape of his neck.

They head out of the gate, stepping off the curb and hurrying across the street to walk along the weedy right side of the road.   The neighborhood is at the edge of town, at the start of a large winery, where the vineyards begin and go off into the pitch dark. It's a road they've walked hundreds of times over the years, and though the yips of coyotes can be heard in the distance, Eddie has never been afraid of this night time walk when Richie is by his side.

The space between each light grows as they keep going, the glow from the end of Richie's cigarette standing out starkly in the dark. There's the faint scent of skunk nearby, but there's no telling what it really is when it's so light.   Eddie wrinkles his nose either way and turns his head slightly to keep from breathing in the tarnished air.

Richie is singing quietly, the lyrics to "Eleanor Rigby" rolling off his tongue and lending the silence some life.   There are no crickets or shuffling through the tall grass. Just those damn distant coyotes.

They reach the end of the road, the gated neighborhood far behind them, and that's when Richie asks, "What do you think of LA?"

Images of crowded schools and congested highways pop up in Eddie’s mind, and he shrugs indifferently. He's never really given it much thought. "I don't know. Why?"

Their shoes scrape over the rugged pavement, the toe of Eddie's sneaker catching on an uneven edge and almost causing him to trip.   He rights himself as Richie says, "I think I want to go to school there."

Eddie peers at him questioningly through the darkness. "Why?"

Richie's tone dips into his careless voice, the one he uses when he's talking about something he's given a lot of thought.   "I don't know. There's nothing around _here_ if I want to, you know, maybe audition for something bigger than a school play. Like a movie. Or a show. Just dust and tumbleweeds."

"There's more than _dust_ ," Eddie insists, though the pit of his stomach is squirming unpleasantly. "What about San Francisco? There's stuff there, right?"

Blowing out a stream of smoke, Richie starts to wave it away from Eddie. "Yeah, but I want to do something with music, too. And um... I already started looking at schools in the area I want to try out."

Eddie stops, right under the glow of a tall, orange light, arms crossed over his chest as he stares up at Richie. His heart is starting to pound a bit faster, a sliver of panic slipping into his mind, and he's pretty sure it shows in his voice. "What schools?"  

Richie names off a few, and as he goes on and starts talking about drama and music programs, and the bonus of hosting strong writer classes, Eddie's brain starts to feel too big for his skull. His gaze falls to the pavement below them, and he stares hard at his neatly tied chucks, smaller than Richie's loose, worn boots, and he wonders what the hell life would be like when he looks down and sees only his own shadow at this corner, his own sneakers without their mirror, this late at night. It's a world where he doesn't come out this way anymore, because this isn't his neighborhood. It's _Richie's_. And why would he if Richie isn't here to take this long, chilly walk with him?

"You should come."

Lifting his head, Eddie feels his eyes grow wide as they meet Richie's and hold, and his mouth is already open and spitting out excuses before his mind has a chance to really consider it.   "That's...that’s stupid.   Why would I go out there? I can go to school here."

Richie steps closer, and though Eddie isn't looking down, he knows Richie's boots make his damn chucks look tiny and pathetic in comparison, just as he feels tiny and pathetic next to the life that is Richie Tozier. The skunk stench has faded now, but the smoke lingering in the air from Richie's cig buries itself in his nose, and though he absolutely hates the smell, he can't lie to himself and pretend it isn't something he's come to associate with these moments, when Richie is standing too close.

"I think you'd like it," Richie says, taking a long, last drag of the smoke before he drops it close by and stomps it out.   "You'd probably end up dating a movie star."

A laugh slips out of Eddie's lips, but he's still shaking his head. Still telling himself that it isn't something he wants, though there's a desperate, clawing ache growing in the center of his chest that screams at him otherwise. "No way. Even if I did meet one, they wouldn't want me."  

Eddie doesn't mean for it to sound so self-deprecating, but then Richie scoffs and gets _even closer_. "Yeah, they would. Definitely.   You're fucking adorable."

" _Stop_ ," Eddie says, trying to step back so he can have some breathing room.   "Quit saying that."

Richie follows him, reaches out and snags the side of his sweater and pulls him in. "They're gonna steal you away," he says softly, and Eddie's breath leaves him when Richie's palm comes up and slides along the line of his jaw, the rough pad of his thumb skimming over his cheekbone. Richie's voice dips into some whiny accent as he frowns exaggeratedly, pushing his bottom lip out in a pout. " _I'll be all alone without my Eds_."

The touch is soft, warm even though it's so cold around them, filling Eddie's chest with an angry swarm of butterflies.   "You'll live," he says, blinking when Richie's tongue darts out and leaves his top lip shiny and tempting.   "You'll..." he sniffs the air, inhales as Richie exhales, and then he smells the weedy stench on Richie's breath. "You're _high_?"  

Richie grins, a secret thing that draws Eddie in until he can only focus on those stupid, pink lips. "I smoked a little…”

Eddie steps back subtly, turning his head so that Richie’s hand falls away. “Why did you?” He asks, shoving his hands in the big pocket pillowed across his stomach, fingers twisting together as he picks at the splinter in his thumb. He’s pretty sure he already knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop him feeling like he’s been punched in the chest.

“Couldn’t mellow out,” Richie says offhandedly, confirming Eddie’s guess. “My meds don’t work anymore.”

It’s hard to be understanding at times.   Eddie despises when Richie drinks or gets high, but at least the weed helps calm him down when he’s having trouble focusing. His doctor is constantly trying to convince him that he’s outgrown his ADHD, but it’s painfully obvious that this isn’t the case.

The drinking is another thing entirely.

“Are you going to try a new one?” Eddie starts off down their usual route again, keeping his eyes down and on the road. If he looks up Richie will be able to tell that he’s upset, and there’s no way he’s going to talk about it. Not when his heart feels like it’s splitting inside him once again. Just as it does each time Richie shows him any sign of affection that runs deeper than their friendship. He feels like an idiot- he already knows better than to get his hopes up at all. They are friends. _Friends_.

Just friends.

“Probably,” Richie replies after a few moments of silence, starting to hum a song as he pulls another cigarette out of his jeans. “I don’t know.”

Eddie doesn’t reply this time, just shivers as the chilly air sneaks under the neckline of Richie’s sweater, trying to steer his mind away from the deep end, where he tends to dwell when he’s feeling like this. It’s been so long that he’s had this settled inside him that it might as well just be a bullet point in his biography. _Eddie Kaspbrak- anxiety ridden, idiot, in love with his best friend._

God, he’s pathetic.

They turn around and head back after a while, Richie singing “Nothing Else Matters” under his breath as Eddie glances up at the cloudless, star-filled sky, endless in its dark, scattered peace. As they pass under the light again, Richie’s voice trails off and he drags his boots across the road obnoxiously, and Eddie is so used to this that it doesn’t distract him from his wonderings.

“I probably won’t go,” Richie says, pulling Eddie out of his thoughts. “It’s far.   And those schools don’t take just anyone.”

Eddie kicks a loose stone, listens as it trips off the road and into the overgrown weeds lining the sides. Part of him wants to agree, to tell Richie to play it safe and stick around here with him, so they can continue to go to school together- but a hot wave of shame overcomes him, and he lets out a breath, clenching his fists in the big pocket of Richie’s sweater.

“They would,” Eddie says, his voice cracking around his words. Swallowing back the damn selfishness threatening to take over, he goes on, quieter than before. “You’re… you’re very talented, Richie.”

Richie shrugs, his hands fidgeting in his pockets for a moment before he comes up with a pen, which he immediately begins to twirl between his fingers. “Thanks,” he says, sheepish, and then, “but it’d be weird to leave, right?”

The voice in Eddie’s head, the one that sounds just like his mother, is pushing him to agree. He shoves it back down, at least for the moment, and he shakes his head, smiling even though it feels like he’s already losing something. “You should do it. If you really want to.”

The wall surrounding the neighborhood comes into view, and Eddie yawns wide and long, dreading heading home and facing his mother. “Stay over,” Richie suggests, dropping his arm over Eddie’s shoulders heavily and startling him. “It’s kinda late for you to head back on your own, isn’t it?”

It’s not a far or long walk at all, but Eddie nods and plays along, grateful when Richie winks and starts talking about some show he’s been watching that Eddie hasn’t seen yet.

As they head back inside the gate, Eddie puts all thoughts of Richie leaving out of his head and doesn’t think of them again for a long time.

  

* * *

 

 

**Present**

Eddie loves San Francisco.

Being close to the water always soothes something inside him, drains the tension from his shoulders that never leaves him day to day. He could travel up the coast for the rest of his life and find happiness, but there’s an energy to the city that keeps him coming back instead.

The lanes on the bridge are easy to move through today. The rush has come and gone, and Eddie sits happily in the passenger seat of Richie’s car, with the window rolled down and the cool air blowing the stuffiness from the space around them. They spent the three-hour drive here listening to standup on Richie’s phone, laughing and talking about some of the nearby cities where Richie has gone to some live shows.

Eddie’s eager to get out of the car and stretch his legs, so when Richie asks him where he wants to go first, he happily says he wants to walk around at Pier 39.

“The _Pier_?” Richie frowns, unimpressed.   “Really? Come on, Eds.”

“What’s wrong with the Pier?”

“It’s touristy as fuck.”

"So?"

"So," Richie flips his blinker on and looks over his left shoulder, moving over to get around a slow-moving lane.   "Maybe expand your horizons.   Just a little bit."

He's just teasing, Eddie knows, but his skin still prickles defensively. "It's _my_ birthday. There’s nothing wrong with the Pier.”

Nodding, Richie slows down as the car descends the bridge and the city rises around them, his fingers reaching for the volume knob and turning it slightly to the right. “You’re right. You’re the birthday boy. We’ll go to the Pier.”

Eddie smiles, laughing when Richie rolls his eyes and shoots him a wide, exaggerated grin. Besides the standup, the ride over has been full of Richie’s commentary on life and the traffic around them, pointing people out as he muses aloud about where they are headed and what they are talking about. He broke out the voices he used to pull when they were younger, littered with heavy and light accents and complete with his signature dick jokes. Eddie couldn’t stop cackling, his side aching each time Richie sped up after making awkward eye contact with the drivers around them.

Since he stopped by the music store it’s been nothing but constant contact, more so than before, and they even spent hours on the phone last night, though they both knew well enough that they would be spending the day together. Eddie hasn’t nodded off with the phone wedged between his ear and pillow since high school, and never thought it would be something he’d do again. He hasn’t met anyone he wants to talk to that badly.   There’s never been anyone else he’s done that with but Richie.

Traffic is usually terrible around the Pier on weekends, but since it’s Friday morning, they find a spot much easier in one of the lots close by. It’s within walking distance, so they set off down the sidewalk toward the end of the street, where most of the docks sit empty to the right, some used for small businesses and others left to rot out in the water. It’s cold, the wind whipping up and tickling over Eddie’s fringe, hanging over his eyes because he hasn’t cut his hair in nearly two months.   The sun is out but hidden by a thick patch of clouds, warmth teasing over their cheeks each time a beam breaks through the clusters in the otherwise clear sky. There’s a faint, fishy smell coming from the water, but as they keep going, Eddie hugging himself and his white, hooded sweater closer to his body, the scent of fried foods soon hits his nose and overpowers the foul stench.  

The Pier is just up ahead, the path lined with a few musicians playing out of their open cases, backpacks filled with belongings strewn aside as passersby drop coins and bills inside. Richie approaches a young one- he looks to be seventeen, possibly eighteen- and just like they could be old friends, Richie starts asking him questions about the cello perched upright between his knees.  

Eddie stands off to the side, a little nervous to approach any kind of stranger, whether they be a man dressed in a fancy suit waiting for a ride or a boy without a home but with undeniable talent.   He watches, envious, as Richie chats with him easily, complimenting the pristine condition of his bow and the _full sound_ of his draw over the strings.   The boy is smiling and nodding, enthusiastic, his filthy pants and sweater standing out starkly next to Richie’s pitch-black jacket and bright, orange jeans. It’s obvious they share the same passion, and as Eddie edges closer, he hears Richie asking the boy if he’s interested in doing some sample melodies for a metal band he’s thinking of joining in the area. The boy’s eyes light up, and he nods as Richie digs his wallet out and hands him a black card, then drops a few bills inside the open case.  

As they walk away, Eddie’s throat is all choked up, and he glances back to see the kid lift his shoulders a little higher as he starts to play again, a cheerful song that is drastically different from the one he was playing before.

"He's so talented," Eddie breathes out, unable to help himself from commenting. “I wonder if he plays anything else.”

Richie’s answering grin spurs a round of fluttering in Eddie’s chest and could put the sun to shame. “He said he plays keyboard, too. I’ve been writing some songs that need strings, and the fucking cello is, like, one of the most badass string instruments out there.”

Eddie listens as Richie goes on, steering them toward the entrance to the Pier and leading them first to a store near the front.   He’s a sucker for souvenirs and knick-knacks, and he grabs a little basket and loads it up with keychains, pins, a shirt, and a new pair of sunglasses he really doesn’t need, but wants because they are jet-black aviators. There’s a similar pair with gem studs lining the top, and Richie proudly grabs them, slapping them on and paying with the tag hanging between his eyes and his glasses shoved up into his hair.

It’s all fun after that. Richie drags Eddie into the arcade, challenging him to a round of air hockey, dark eyes shining when Eddie accepts without hesitation.   They play several rounds, Eddie winning all of them when his competitive nature gets the better of him, and then they move on to some of the other games. They play most of them, Eddie losing himself in the racing ones when he plops down in the seat and floors the gas pedal. He hasn’t laughed so much in a long time, giggling when he shoves Richie’s arm and causes his car to veer off the track, snorting when Richie scoffs and rams the side of Eddie’s ride. It’s childish, of course, but he doesn’t care; he’s thirty years old today, and he’s going to have as much fun as he possibly can.

They eat at a questionable place. The wood floor is littered with seagulls snapping for fallen bits of fried batter and fries, and the condiments are exposed to the open air, in danger of going bad if the temperature were to rise any higher.   They stick to something basic- fish and chips- and eat right outside on the railing surrounding the edge of the dock, balancing their baskets and watching as the shops start to fill with more and more people.

When they’re finished, Eddie leads the way toward the Mirror Maze, passing by the merry-go-round, which is spinning lazily as a few people hang on to the horses on the lower level. Somehow, Richie’s pout convinces Eddie to get in line for the next ride, and they end up on the top level, Eddie straddling a unicorn as Richie clings dramatically to the horse that’s moving up and down beneath him.   It’s made all the funnier by Richie’s long, dangling legs touching the floor each time his horse dips, his ridiculous orange jeans and mocking cries drawing the attention of the people beneath.   They probably look like a couple of dumb teenagers, and though Eddie is embarrassed at first, hiding his face as Richie claims he’s going to “ _blow chunks all over this fucking pony_ ”, Eddie can’t stop giggling when he hops off at the end of the ride. He ignores the odd stares directed at them as they walk off, shoulders pressed together and the backs of their hands brushing briefly.

“This is fucking terrifying,” Richie says once they’re standing outside of the Mirror Maze. “What is wrong with you? Why would you do this to me?”

Eddie shuts him up by shoving him through the curtain, but he’s immediately floored by how dark it is inside. He clings to Richie’s elbow, feeling small and stupid as they walk right into a mirror when they turn the first corner. It’s impossible to tell the difference without reaching out and touching, so they blindly stagger around, palms thrust out and ridiculous smiles on their faces, laughing at each other every time they crash into the glass or trip over a corner.

They find their way out eventually, and by then the sun has dipped noticeably in the sky.

“You wanna get going?” Richie asks, and Eddie nods as he glances down at his phone for the time. It’s almost four. “What do you want to do?”

“Golden Gate,” Eddie says, gesturing for Richie to follow him. “I want to walk on the beach,”

Richie seems pleased with this, so Eddie leads them through the thickening crowd of people and away from the growing stench of fried foods and sweat.

 

 

 

On the beach Richie says, “What happened with your mom?”

Eddie hesitates before he answers, eyes fixed on the sand beneath their shoes, his sneakers small and clean next to Richie’s old, worn boots. There’s a lot that’s happened with his mom; the manipulation and control are surface things. The first look into the complicated relationship he’s always had with her. And Richie knows these things, so he’s not asking about any of that.  

“Which time?” he laughs, the sound falling flat when Richie doesn’t join in.

The waves are suddenly loud, crashing close by, drawing Eddie’s eyes to the foam and the weeds. If it were warmer Eddie would take his shoes and socks off and walk through the water, but the cold is starting to move in the later it gets, stinging his cheeks with every strong gust of wind. Richie’s cheeks and nose are red when he turns to Eddie, a sweet flush that colors his pale skin.

Richie lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug.   “The last time.”

If Richie would crack a smile or say something stupid, just like when they were kids, then Eddie could pretend it doesn’t ache to think about that day. Call him stupid, but a part of him still wishes he could find a way to make his mom understand him.

“It was last year,” he starts, staring at the shattered bits of rocks and debris, buried in the sand with edges sticking out to trip unsuspecting people. “I was having a hard time with something. She wouldn’t leave me alone about it. You remember what she’s like.”

Richie nods, pushes hair out of his eyes and watches Eddie closely. “Yeah, I remember.”

This time Eddie doesn’t take a moment to think it over before he goes on. “I used to drink a lot. I was close to backsliding and she showed up at my house…”

The day is clear in his mind. It was October, sometime in the middle, and he was huddled on his couch with a new bottle of vodka sitting on the kitchen counter. It was right on the edge, where he could see it from his spot in the living room, and his hands shook, and his heart raced, and he wanted to rip the top off that thing and drown himself with it. And he would have, if his mom hadn’t come knocking on the door when he was close to flinging himself off the couch and snatching sweet relief. He doesn’t remember what caused his mood to drop so dramatically, but it was the lowest he’d been since he cut himself off.

“I let her in,” he goes on, not seeing the ground give slightly under each step, or the darkening of the sky as the minutes rapidly go by. “She started screaming at me. I didn’t want to go see my uncle with her. You know my uncle Roger- my dad’s brother- the homophobic one?” Eddie doesn’t wait to see if Richie nods or not.   “He was really sick I guess. I told her he could eat shit and die for all I care.”

Richie arches a brow at him. “Then what happened?”

“She said some things.” Her voice is clear in Eddie’s head, the screech and aggression, shouting that he’s worthless. Ungrateful.   _You’re selfish. Selfish brat that I raised- I never taught you to be disrespectful. Never taught you to talk to me like this!_ “I said some things.” _Stop fucking up my life!_ He was so _angry._ “But I was…”

Something catches in Eddie’s throat and stings his eyes.   They well up, close to spilling over from the lingering hole in his chest. He hasn’t wanted to drink so bad since then, until last weekend at the fundraiser, with pain raw in his stomach and eating away at his heart. It seldom wakes, but the addiction will never really go away. Not when he let himself get so deep into that well of endless suffering.

Eddie clears his throat. “I told her to get out of my life.”

A few waves crash much closer to them, and Eddie looks over to see their steps have drifted too close to the edge. He moves away, slowly, glancing back to see Richie following silently. Richie glances behind them, at the Golden Gate bridge, lights coming to life as the sky rapidly darkens above them. It’s beautiful, but Eddie isn’t interested in watching the bridge right now.

Richie’s boots come closer as Eddie’s eyes fall to the ground again, and he smiles at the familiar sight of their shoes so close together. All the long, late-night walks from their youth come flooding into his mind. They talked about so many things then. Confided everything.

“I had some problems,” Richie says, gentle, and Eddie looks up to show he’s listening. “In LA. My doctor out there was a fucking asshole. He kept trying to convince me my ADHD was anxiety.”

“What did you do?” Eddie asks, though the squirming in his stomach gives him an idea where this is going before Richie answers.

“I tried cocaine.”

Eddie isn’t surprised, and he almost hates himself for that. “…And?”  

Richie sighs and turns, back in the direction they came, toward the bridge and the lights and the city. “I couldn’t stop. I did it all the time.”

Eddie follows him, falling in step beside him once again, staring at his profile and wondering how it’s possible that this happened to both of them. “But you… you don’t do it now…?”

“My dad flew out and knocked me on my ass,” Richie says, voice light and unashamed. “He said he didn’t work his ass off to raise a dumbass, and then he stayed with me for about a month while I kicked it.”

A fond smile curls up at the corner of Richie’s mouth, and before Eddie can stop himself he says, “You really miss him.”

Richie’s grin widens as he nods, glancing at Eddie with bright eyes. “Yeah.   I do.”

“I’m sorry, Richie.”

“It’s okay,” Richie insists, drifting closer so their shoulders brush, and their elbows knock together. “He was always hurting. And he stopped eating. And he looked so damn sick all the time. He stopped laughing too, you know? He was just. Not really my dad anymore. Toward the end.”

Eddie tugs on Richie’s sleeve, turning to face him as they stop. The sky is now the deep purply-blue of evening, no clouds in sight and the bridge bright and brilliant in the distance. He lets his hand fall to his side, uncertain, wondering if there are any words to truly soothe this kind of grief.

He doesn’t know what to say. “He was still your dad. No matter what.”

Richie’s eyes settle on him, a little magnified behind his glasses, big and dark and wondering. “Yeah,” he says, curls blowing in the wind, gaze softening.   “You’re right.”

Smiling, they set off again, closer than before.   There’s a gentle touch against Eddie’s palm, slow and questioning at first, and then the smooth slide of fingers slipping between his. It’s soft, his chest bursting with warmth as he looks down and finds Richie’s hand entwined with his, their fingers matched perfectly, pale and tan skin that somehow looks wonderful together. The image roots itself in Eddie’s mind, his own fingers curling to grasp Richie’s back, his heart thudding hard when their eyes meet briefly.

They walk a little bit more, voices low as they talk about unimportant things, like the lights on the boats still out on the water, and the broken glass glinting along their path. It’s easy. Peaceful.   Eddie’s heart is going to burst out of him.  

Their hands stay linked all the way to the car, and once they’re settled and driving toward the bay bridge, Eddie’s stomach dips when Richie reaches over the gearshift to take his hand again. It feels like the end of a date. A date he’s waited forever for. A date he’s wanted more than anything else. The urge to look over as they go over the bridge is strong, to see if the heat Eddie feels lighting his face is shared, or if he’s alone in this sudden fire. The lights and the traffic and the music fall silent around him, his pulse too loud in his ears, his skin coming to life in unrivaled anticipation.  

They’re staying overnight in a hotel in Oakland, close to the theater and the water and the airport. They waste little time checking in to their separate rooms, which Eddie had insisted on, to lessen the temptation. Self-discipline that crumbles with every shared glance and secret smile. The hotel is one with multiple floors, and their rooms share a wall on the fourth, at the end of the long hall by the stairwell. Eddie slides the keycard into his own, back straight as he steps inside and drops his bag in front of the door, leaving it propped open. He tells himself it isn’t an invitation, but he’s a damn liar.

Sliding his shoes and socks off, he switches on the lamp on the nightstand and looks around the average room. He pulls his sweater over his head and throws it on the bed, which is covered in a dark floral spread, wide and soft when he touches the corner with his fingertips, roomy and tempting as he stands, torn.   His hand is tingling, fingers curling in on his palm, chasing the feeling of Richie’s nails grazing his knuckles not half an hour ago. His back is to the door, but he hears the next room’s closing with a click- Richie’s room.

Eddie is a terrible decision maker. Always has been. It’s why he took so damn long to tell his mom to fuck off, and why he waited until opportunity presented itself perfectly to write Richie out of his life. But right now, with his pulse thrumming and his legs shaking, he doesn’t want to be that person who can’t take action. Who sits on the sidelines and watches life go by, watches others find love and happiness and purpose while he remains alone and wanting.

Fuck this. Turning around, Eddie heads for the hall, stopping short when he finds Richie already hovering in the doorway, uncertainty etched in every angle of his body.   One socked foot is still outside, while the other is planted beside Eddie’s bag, the dark cloth standing out boldly against the beige carpet. Richie’s changed, too; he’s wearing a dark tee and sweatpants that hang a bit off his hips, with his hair pulled back into a messy bun at the base of his neck. _Fuck_ \- Richie is the picture of carelessness, the dusting of stubble on his jaw drawing Eddie’s eyes, the line of his neck a beacon for Eddie’s lips.

“Hey,” Richie says, casual, like Eddie isn’t about to burst with all the need gathering inside him. But as easy as the greeting sounds, Eddie can see the line of tension in Richie’s shoulders, in the wrinkle between his brows as he shoves his hands in his pockets and teeters in place. “You want to watch a movie? Or, I don’t know, we could go eat…?”

“I’m not hungry,” Eddie says, stepping forward.   He moves toward Richie slowly, hands trembling down at his sides, reading the questions in Richie’s eyes the closer he gets. “We should stay here.”

Richie swallows visibly, hooded gaze lowering to Eddie’s mouth. “Here?”

Nodding, Eddie gestures to the door, almost afraid to speak. He stops in the middle of the room. “Come here.”

Richie doesn’t move for a moment, and then he shuts the door behind him and meets Eddie at the halfway point. “Eds?”

Eddie hums, his body charged and ready, but he’s so damn terrified to make the first move. “What?”

Voice low, Richie comes closer, one hand leaving his pocket and hovering close to Eddie’s hip, so close that Eddie is sure when it finally touches him he’ll burn. “Can I kiss you?”

The smart thing, Eddie knows, is to refuse and send him away. To crawl into the safety of solitude and want from the inside, depriving himself for the night- and forever. But he nods, reaches out to grab hold, rising on his toes when Richie’s arm goes around his waist and tugs him close.  

When Richie’s mouth crushes his he _ignites_ , hands crawling up Richie’s chest and shoulders, curling into the fabric of his shirt. His mouth falls open, and he tastes lingering mint and smoke on Richie’s tongue, something he never imagined would be good, but it is. And it’s nothing like he ever fantasized, daydreamed, _hoped_ \- it’s so much more.   The heat of Richie’s breath as he kisses down Eddie’s jaw and neck, sucking bruises into his skin and making Eddie’s hips jump forward. The sound Richie makes when Eddie goes with the movement and slots their bodies together perfectly has Eddie’s head spinning, his fingers searching, heat pooling between his legs. As Richie kisses him harder, nips Eddie’s bottom lip and soothes the sting with a sweep of his tongue, Eddie crumbles a little more, allows Richie to walk them backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed and he falls.

It’s unreal, he thinks, as Richie crawls over him, spreads out on top of him and brings their mouths together again.   It’s deliberate that he ignores the joy swelling in his chest, the _finally_ echoing in his mind and soul. It’s self-preservation, because no matter what kind of ignorant decision this is, he can’t stop it now that it’s started.

Richie’s lips are on his neck, teeth scraping that perfect spot under his ear when he murmurs Eddie’s name, soft and reverent, with his palm cupping Eddie’s cheek, thumbing Eddie’s bottom lip. “Eddie…”

Eddie lets out a desperate sound, something high and embarrassing, sliding his arms around Richie’s back to pull his shirt up and touch skin. He drags his nails parallel to the waistband, and up the dip of Richie’s spine, sighing when Richie hisses and rocks down against him.

“Can I…?” Richie tugs on the hem of Eddie’s shirt, bunching it under his arms, and Eddie answers him by pushing himself up and lifting them over his head.   Richie’s fingers tease at his sides, pull the clothing off, and then Eddie impatiently shoves his hands under Richie’s tee.

“You too,” he whispers, smiling when Richie complies and shucks the shirt off quickly. It’s not the first time they’ve seen each other this way, but it’s the first time Eddie’s been allowed to touch, so he indulges himself. His palms smooth down, down over Richie’s chest, flicking his thumb over a nipple as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.   He’s fascinated with the hair on Richie’s chest, curly and dark and beautiful. “ _Wow_.”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Richie chuckles, taking Eddie’s hands and lacing their fingers together, a sweet gesture Eddie isn’t expecting. “You’re gorgeous.”

Eddie echoes Richie’s words back at him, though his face heats up at the honesty in Richie’s voice. “ _Nothing you haven’t seen before._ ”  

Richie moves forward, presses Eddie down again, settles between his legs and pins Eddie’s hands on the bed. Ducking down, Richie brushes a soft, barely-there kiss over Eddie’s lips, his glasses sliding down his nose when he pulls back. “So?”

Eddie has no retort, his heart skipping stupidly at the emotion shining in Richie’s eyes, and the way Richie’s thumbs are skimming over the inside of his palms. “Richie…”

“Hm?”

Eddie can’t mask the vulnerability in his voice, gazing up at Richie with naked affection. “Do you want me?”

“No shit,” Richie says, rolling his hips down.   “Can’t you tell?”

Breathless, Eddie slips his hands out of Richie’s grip and places one on Richie’s waist. “No. I mean…” he sets the other over Richie’s heart, eyes growing wide when he feels it pounding hard and fast, maybe faster than his own. “Do you _want_ me?”

Richie’s voice pitches low. “ _Yeah_.”  

“Really?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Eddie lets out a breathy laugh, shy and overwhelmed.   “I want you so much.”

Richie’s hands move down over his sides, stopping at his hips and holding him in place. “Yeah?”

“ _Yeah_.”  

They move against each other, Eddie burying his hot face between Richie’s neck and shoulder, tasting the skin there with wet, open kisses, biting down when Richie groans and thrusts against him. Eddie’s fingers dip under Richie’s sweats, kneading soft flesh as he circles his hips and whines, tipping his head back when Richie grabs his thighs and hikes them high on his waist.

Richie moves back again, hands pulling at Eddie’s jeans, and Eddie quickly pops the button open and nods when Richie’s fingers ghost over the zipper. It’s hard to keep still when Richie’s hands tug them down his legs, when Richie pauses to bend down and brush hot kisses over his thighs, teasing at the insides with his tongue and teeth. Eddie squirms, sighs when his feet are free, and Richie drapes himself over Eddie’s legs, biting and sucking the skin above his briefs.

“Richie.” Eddie’s toes curl when Richie breathes damp, hot air over his covered cock, fingers sneaking under the elastic band, nails scraping over Eddie’s hips as Richie pulls his underwear down. They end up bunched around his knees as Richie’s attention shifts between them, where Eddie’s dick is hard and flushed red, resting low on his stomach.

“Jesus,” Richie breathes, slipping his glasses off and setting them off to the side. He dips low suddenly, pressing a series of quick, sucking kisses over Eddie’s hips. Eddie’s head falls back, eyes squeezing closed as Richie’s mouth trails lower, low over the crease between pelvis and thigh, tongue hot and wet against the incredibly sensitive skin there.   _Goddamn_ \- Eddie’s legs are trembling already, his breath hitching each time Richie touches him, ignores his cock and continues to tease him.

“Please,” Eddie groans, his hand landing on top of Richie’s head, where he grabs a handful of hair and pulls. His skin is on fire, his blood rushing in his ears and his heart beating wildly, arousal and liquid heat gathering between his thighs.   Richie retreats suddenly, and Eddie watches, fascinated, as Richie stands and kicks his sweats, socks and boxers off, so much skin revealed all at once that Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck to do first.

Swinging his legs off the bed, Eddie shucks his briefs off the rest of the way, then grasps Richie’s hips and pulls him close, eager. A voice in his head is telling him to slow down, to be careful as he looks up and meets Richie’s eyes, dark and endless and beautiful, full of things Eddie isn’t sure he’s reading correctly. All he wants right now is to make Richie feel good, so he wraps his hand around him, pumps his palm down, up, thumb pressing over the head.

Richie hisses, his palm coming up and cradling Eddie’s jaw. “Fuck… _fuck_ , Eddie…”

Eddie gets closer, mouth open and wanting as he moves his hand slowly. “Good?”  

“Yeah…”

Fuck- he can come just from listening to Richie’s stuttering breath. “You want my mouth?”

Richie’s head falls back as his hips twitch forward, cock growing harder in Eddie’s hold, and Eddie gives it a soft squeeze.   “Goddamn, Eds. Yeah. _Yeah_.”

And Eddie leans in, pulls Richie closer, then takes the head between his lips and flattens his tongue over the slit.   Richie takes in deep breaths, hands landing in Eddie’s hair and curling through the strands, a grounding hold that is soft and unhurried. In the past, others have tried to fuck Eddie’s mouth when he’s done this for them, tried to shove their cock past the point he can stand, and he’s walked out on many of them. It’s a relief to find that Richie isn’t pushy, but encouraging, his voice lending praise and the noises he freely gives all building in the pit of Eddie’s stomach.   Heat simmers over his skin, his own cock aching to be touched, but he loses himself in the throaty moan that Richie gives him, in the tightening of Richie’s fingers in his hair as his thighs start to shake under Eddie’s palms.

“ _Stop_ ,” Richie gasps, sliding out of Eddie’s mouth, his chest heaving as he presses Eddie down on the bed again. Eddie falls back, inhaling sharply when Richie’s fingers tease at the insides of his thighs. “How the fuck did you almost make me come so fast?”

Grinning, Eddie slides his hands low behind Richie’s back and cups his ass, pressing them together in a hard, dirty grind. “Guess you’re just easy.”

“ _Oh really_?” Richie’s smile curls into a smirk, hands taking Eddie by the waist. “I’m easy?”

“No--“ Eddie begins, cut off when Richie flips him over on his front.

Eddie means to protest, if only to lie and say he doesn’t like being manhandled, but then Richie’s body bears down along his back, all naked skin and heat and sweat, kissing over his shoulders and hands holding on to his hips. Richie thrusts against him, and Eddie’s mind goes fuzzy when the head of Richie’s cock slides between his cheeks, teasing at his hole in a slow, agonizing drag. “ _Oh god_ -“

Richie pulls Eddie’s head back, crushes their mouths together as he runs the smooth head of his cock all around Eddie’s rim.   Reaching behind him, Eddie grabs hold of Richie’s side, pushing back against him, spreading his legs as Richie breathes over the shell of his ear. “You want me?”

Nodding quickly, Eddie whines and digs his nails into Richie’s skin. “ _Yeah. Yeah, Richie…_ ”

Richie’s lips drag down over his jaw, peck a kiss against his cheek, and then he’s reaching toward the ground where their pants are tossed on the floor. He fights with the pocket of his sweats for a moment, then pulls out two thin packets of lube and a condom and sets them down on the bedspread.

Eddie’s eyes stay on the condom, his stomach swooping low as Richie takes one of the lube packets in his hand. Shit. _Shit_ \- they’re really doing this. Richie is going to be _inside_ him, deep in his body, pounding into him-

“I really wanna prep you,” Richie says, shifting his weight so he’s to the side of Eddie instead of on top of him. “But if you want to do it yourself…”

“Do it,” Eddie says, inching his legs outwards and clutching at the sheets. “I want you to.”

Eddie watches over his shoulder as Richie tears open the packet, then warms the lube between his hands. Richie spreads out again, so their faces are close together, and Eddie sucks in a breath at the press of a finger, gentle, circling the skin of his rim, the soft touch setting every little nerve on fire.  

No one has touched him this way in so long.   The last time he had sex was over a year ago, with a guy he met through Bev who was rough and selfish. He fingered Eddie hard and unrelenting, only going at it long enough so he could get his dick in without seriously hurting Eddie. It was unsatisfying, left him sore, and it put him off sex or meeting anyone for a long time. This is worlds different. Richie goes slow, patient, circling his fingers with gentle pressure, kissing Eddie’s cheek and ear, whispering praise each time Eddie makes any kind of noise. The tip slides in to the first knuckle, and Eddie groans as the rest of Richie’s long finger sinks into him.

Of all the fantasies and daydreams, the wet dreams, the wondering and longing, Eddie never once considered that Richie would be so soft, so giving as a lover. It’s always been rushed, passionate, hard impatience that he’s imagined, with terrible jokes and badly timed comments. Not _this_.   This he isn’t sure he can handle.  

“You okay?” Richie asks, pumping his finger in, then out, pressing a lingering kiss to Eddie’s jaw.

Eddie nods, rests their foreheads together as he breathes deeply, pressing back into the incredible feeling. “ _More_ ,” he pleads once his body is used to the one, and Richie obliges, pushing a second finger in beside the first.

Eddie moans at the stretch, closes his eyes for a moment as his cock twitches where it’s trapped between his body and the bed.   It doesn’t take much longer for Richie to start curling his fingers, pumping them faster, deeper. Eddie’s afraid to open his eyes, to meet Richie’s, to find nothing there but lust when he’s so overpowered by affection. In his chest he knows it’s more than that, but the irrational fear keeps his head low and his breath shallow, one hand grasping at Richie’s arm, nails digging in when Richie eases a third finger inside.

“ _Don’t stop_ ,” Eddie pleads, losing his breath when Richie picks up the pace, knuckles grazing the skin of his rim each time they thrust back in. “… _Fuck…yeah_ …”

Richie’s voice is wrecked. “Good?”

“... _Yeah_ …”

“You feel so good,” Richie goes on, punctuating his words with a thrust of his fingers. “God, Eds- you’re amazing.”

Eddie’s heart jolts in his chest, and he reaches back, pushes at Richie’s wrist to stop him. “I’m- I’m ready. I need you.”

Richie kisses his chin, the corner of his mouth, then sucks on his bottom lip. “You sure?”  

Nodding silently, Eddie sighs as Richie reaches over him for the condom and extra lube, and he follows Richie’s hands with his eyes, watching him over his shoulder. His heart is thudding hard against his ribs, pulse tripping as Richie tears open the shiny packet and rolls the condom over his flushed cock.   Fuck. This is happening. _This is actually happening._

Richie tears the other lube packet open, coats his hands with the substance, then smooths it over himself with a few slow, careful pulls. His eyes are burning into Eddie’s as he crawls over him, lowers his body over Eddie’s back.

Eddie can’t breathe when Richie reaches down to take hold of himself. “Rich…”

Richie’s hips move forward, fingers guiding the head inside, and Eddie’s mouth falls open around a strangled sound. The pressure is overpowering, overwhelming, and his hands grip the edges of the mattress hard, his body opening, responding, dying as Richie slides deeper and deeper inside.

“Eddie. Eddie.” Richie’s voice is hot and close to his ear, lips on Eddie’s cheek, palm cradling Eddie’s jaw. “You okay?”  

“ _Yeah_ ,” Eddie’s voice is tight. “Keep going.”

“I’m not hurting you?”

“No.” When Richie’s hips are flush against his ass, Eddie lets out a breath, craning his neck back to catch Richie’s eyes. _God_. Richie feels huge inside him. Perfect.

Eddie’s not expecting Richie to lean forward, to wrap an arm around his chest and pull him back for a kiss. He melts into it, breathing hard when Richie’s hips begin to move, rocking slowly, Richie’s tongue licking into his mouth. Words are threatening to spill, stupid things hiding right behind his teeth, and he smothers them as Richie pulls out, then thrusts back into him. Eddie moans into Richie’s mouth, reaching behind him and grabbing on to his hip, encouraging him to do it again.

Richie goes faster, kissing up Eddie’s jaw, down the line of his throat, murmuring praise into his skin. “You feel so good,” he gasps, rolling his hips harder.   “So fucking beautiful, Eds.”

Eddie turns away, rests his forehead against the bed, losing himself as Richie’s cock grazes that wonderful bundle of nerves inside.   It’s stupid. So stupid. His heart is swelling, growing, elated with every wonderful word Richie gives him, ignoring all the warnings that his brain clings to.

Richie pulls out suddenly, lifts off him, and then Eddie is being rolled on to his back. “Wanna see you,” Richie murmurs against his hair, taking Eddie’s legs in his big hands and urging them to wrap around him.

Fuck. Eddie can’t look away now, can’t shut his eyes against the soft, endearing look Richie is giving him, and he’s helpless to try when Richie pushes inside him again. Eddie’s back arches off the bed when Richie starts to pound into him, hard, harder, his fingers clutching at Richie’s back as he cries out. A knot of tension coils low in his stomach, his legs shaking as Richie hits that spot inside, and he can’t look away. Doesn’t want to turn his head and shut his eyes.

“ _Rich_ ,” Eddie groans, hips lifting to meet every thrust. “Richie-“

Richie ducks and kisses him again, panting hard between their lips, sweat beading over his chin when he pulls away.   “Fuck. _Fuck_ \- Eddie. _Eddie_.”

Eddie moans brokenly, fingers gently touching Richie’s throat and jaw, trailing up into the loose hair falling out of his bun.   Their eyes are locked, Richie’s hooded and soft, lips curving into a hazy smile as he chants Eddie’s name brokenly, passionately- like it all means something, like Eddie is _important_. He can’t hold back, can’t bite his tongue and keep it all inside.  

“ _L-Love you,“_ Eddie cries, panting, moaning, dying with his confession. _“I love you. Richie_ -“

Richie sucks in a huge breath, buries his face between Eddie’s neck and shoulder, and he comes, body trembling and hips stuttering.   A shudder goes through his skin, and Eddie holds him through it, tasting salt-sweat as he kisses the freckles on Richie’s shoulder, mouths just under his jaw. Richie reaches between them, closes his hand around Eddie’s dick, stripping him quick and tight and slick. It doesn’t take much for Eddie to come, and he does with his head thrown back and his thighs tight around Richie’s hips, soundless.

The come down feels like forever. Eddie winces when Richie pulls out of him, but doesn’t notice much else for several minutes, eyes closed and breath slowing, mind blissfully, beautifully blank. He doesn’t get a chance to worry about the _after_ , because arms are suddenly winding around his shoulders, pulling him close to a bare, sweaty chest. Panic lights in his skin, brief and bright, but then Richie tips his chin up and kisses him full and lush. The lingering heat in Eddie’s limbs flickers hopefully, his body relaxing and sinking into the quiet around them.    

When Richie pulls back he speaks low in Eddie’s ear, voice deep and rough and raw. “Did you mean it?”

There’s no use denying the confession. It’s as real and true as if he said it in a normal, intimate moment. He keeps his eyes closed, hiding his face in Richie’s chest, so afraid that everything is going to shatter around him. “Yeah.”

Richie doesn’t respond immediately, the silence pressing in on Eddie’s ears, Richie’s wide hands comforting where they’re resting high on Eddie’s back, thumbs massaging deep, slow circles into his muscles.

After several moments Richie says, “Is that why you stopped talking to me?”

Eddie nods, ashamed, the beginning of tears stinging his eyes, his chest aching so suddenly that he inhales loud and sharp.   “I’m sorry,” he says, turning away from the lamp glow and Richie’s eyes. “I’m _sorry_.“

“Hey, no,” Richie’s voice is soothing in his ear, his body rolling so Eddie is on his back, Eddie covering his face with his palms.   “Don’t cry, Eds. Come on.”

Eddie shivers as Richie kisses his knuckles, the backs of his fingers. “I’m sorry.   I shouldn’t’ve done that to you.”  

“It’s okay.”

Shaking his head, Eddie sighs when Richie’s body rests in the cradle of his thighs, bare skin pressed wonderfully together in way he doesn’t deserve. “I fucked us over.”

Richie’s eyes dart between his.   Questioning. Wondering. “I probably deserved it, though.” He laughs, nervous, and Eddie doesn’t want to break this moment. “I was a fucking moron back then.”

Quietly, Eddie says, “I didn’t know what you wanted from me.”

Taking one of Eddie’s hands in his, Richie presses his lips over Eddie’s fingertips, then his palm. “What do you mean?”

In a low voice Eddie reminds him of all the times he hurt. All the times Richie touched him a certain way, looked at him like he wanted him.   Broke his heart by drinking or smoking and expressing interest when he couldn’t be held accountable for it.   Too many times.

“I wanted _you_ ,” Richie says when Eddie’s finished. He doesn’t let Eddie hide his face this time, speaking close to his lips.   “I was in love with you.”

A smile tugs at Eddie’s lips, shyness creeping into his stomach and settling. “Yeah?”

Chuckling, Richie rolls off him but doesn’t let go, keeping their limbs tangled together as he combs his fingers through the hair at the base of Eddie’s neck. It’s unexpected but sweet, and Eddie melts into the touch. “Yeah. Baby crush.   Puppy love. Angsty teenage love. Then… the real deal.”

The room is warm, Eddie notices, but he doesn’t care about that. He can’t take his eyes off Richie, and the light falling over his cheekbone, his bare shoulder, freckles all over his pale skin. “Baby crush?” He asks, grinning and touching the tip of Richie’s nose. “When did that one start?”

Richie’s face breaks into a flirty smile, his flushed cheek pillowing when he drops his head against the bed. “I think we were in… maybe fifth grade? It was that classroom with the mummified cat on the wall.”  

Eddie winces, remembering the carcass and the rotted bandages. “Ugh.   Sixth grade. Mr. Calderone.”  

“Oh, Mr. _Calderone_ ,” Richie sings, delighted, dropping a kiss on Eddie’s forehead as he goes on. “You came to school with a sunflower sticking out of your overalls. One of those big ones that used to grow by your fence.”

Eddie hums, the memory coming to life in his mind.   “That one kid took my sunflower.   Jeff something…”

“Jeff Chavez.”

“I _hated_ him!”

“Yeah, cause he bullied you all the time.”

The kid was an asshole. He used to take Eddie’s old inhaler and chuck it over the fence at recess, laughing with his friends when Richie would go get it for him because Eddie didn’t want to ruin his clothes climbing over the chain-link.

“Well, you gave me that sunflower after you got it back,” Richie continues, eyes falling shut as he scoots closer, pulls Eddie in more. “You said you wanted to see my giant smile.”

They are side by side now, heads close together, breath mingling in the sliver of space between them. “I love your giant smile,” Eddie admits.

Richie doesn’t miss a beat. “I love _you_.”    

There’s not a lot left to say after that. They whisper memories of their childhood and parents, voices drifting away, arms tight around each other. Richie falls asleep first, his snores a welcome change to all the long, silent nights Eddie has been alone.

 

* * *

 

  

Eddie, according to Bev, is a little too happy when he sits down in the booth on Monday.

“You didn’t call me all weekend,” Bev pouts, eyes narrowing as she looks him over carefully. “Didn’t miss me, did you?”

A smile fights through Eddie’s forced stoic expression, and he almost cracks. “I did, but I had fun.”

“With Richie?”

“Um-“

Eddie’s spared answering by the clock, shoving his headphones over his ears as the _On Air_ sign lights up. It’s easy to avoid questions for the next couple hours, getting lost in the string of calls, his eyes straying to his phone each time there’s a lull between callers. His fingers are itching to flip it over, but he controls the need. They spent the whole damn weekend together- Richie probably just needs a little space.

Smiling to himself, Eddie sighs longingly. He already misses Richie. They’ve been apart since last night, agreeing to sleep in their own homes, though it was clear they both wanted otherwise when they said goodbye. Eddie sinks into the memory of Richie pressing him against his front door, the two of them hidden in the shadows of his porch, kissing heatedly, desperately, Richie’s hand sneaking under Eddie’s shirt to splay across his lower stomach.   God- Eddie was so close to dragging him inside, insisting he stay the night, and damn everything else. Never in his life has he wanted someone the way he’s always wanted Richie. It’s terrifying to finally be allowed to touch, after wanting most of his life, and training himself to settle for what he can get.

Though they spent two days together in the hotel room, they didn’t talk everything out, specifically the _after_. Are they dating? Do people who are in love with each other just _date_?   This thing between them feels too big for such a simple, meaningless word, but it’s still hanging in the air unspoken. Unsettled.  

During a longer commercial break Eddie snatches his phone off the table, lighting up the screen to find not one missed text.   His chest goes tight; it’s not like they need to talk every second of every day, but it would be nice to have _something_ to reply to.

Maybe he should send something first.

“What the fuck is going on?” Bev demands, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back in her chair. She’s smirking one of those annoying, knowing smirks. The ones that always make Eddie feel stupid. “You’re like, super spacey today.”

“Nothing,” Eddie deflects, setting his phone face down again, disappointment curling in his stomach. “How was your weekend?”

“Oh no,” Bev sits up a bit, moving her foot across the carpet and nudging his shoe with her boot. “We aren’t talking about my hot chocolate and romcom movies weekend.   I need the details.”

“What details?”

Bev, to her credit, only rolls her eyes one time as she sits up and leans toward him. “ _Richie_ details. You guys were in magic gay land together. You can’t tell me nothing happened.”

The blush that fills Eddie’s cheeks gives him away, and Bev squeals before he even begins. “It’s nothing. Really.   We just… we slept together.”

“ _Just slept together_?”

“Yeah.”

“Bullshit!”

Eddie smothers his smile, hiding behind his hands as he scrubs his palms down his face. “Why are you calling bullshit?”

“Because I smell it all over you, dollface!”

“ _Bev_ ,” Eddie groans, sliding his headphones back on as the commercial gets close to ending. “Can you not treat this like one of those things you lose your mind over?”

Bev scoffs, adjusts her headphones. “But I _am_ losing my mind!”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He blows through the greeting and an announcement for another fundraiser scheduled for the week, his hands starting to sweat the more he thinks about Richie’s silence. It’s not that late in the day yet. It’s only a little after eleven. But it’s all made worse by the doubt and the need and the stupidity of the whole thing.

Bev greets the next caller, letting him off the hook when he fumbles over his words, distracted.

“Thanks for calling on a crappy Monday. What’s your name and what’s your pain?”

“ _It’s your long lost bi-bro, my dude. Mondays are hell in the flesh and they should die slowly.”_

“Oh my _god_!” Bev giggles, grinning wide as she turns to Eddie expectantly. “Is that you, Mr. Bi-Fi?”

Eddie’s heart leaps at Richie’s voice, his face filling with heat when Richie confirms that it’s him. “ _I’ve been listening and trying to call all morning. That screener is ruthless. I had to tell him I’m a thirty-year old bedwetter to get through.”_

Bev snorts and goes with it, while Eddie sits silent and dumbstruck. “Well, are you?”

Richie adopts an accent in reply. “ _I shaw am, my de’ah. Soaked the mattress righ’ through las’ nigh’_.”

Bev and Richie go back and forth for a bit, Eddie listening but hearing nothing, his throat dry and his hands trembling.   Why isn’t he saying anything?   Why isn’t Richie addressing him at all?   Why is he so damn paranoid about this?  

“So, why did you call, Richie?” Bev asks him at last. “You better have a legit bedwetting story or I’m blocking you from all social media.”

Richie laughs, easy and confident, and Eddie has to keep his hand from grasping at his chest as it fills with butterflies. “ _I need some advice! Or did I call the wrong show? I thought there was a smart, cute little bean co-hosting with you_.”

“Oh, there _is_ ,” Bev assures him, leaning on her elbows and grinning wide. “He’s just bein’ shy. Aren’t ya, angel?”

Finally, Eddie clears his throat, and speaks with the same tremble in his voice he had the first time he went live. “Um… hi. I’m here.”

“ _Well, thank god for that_ ,” Richie says, his voice softening in a way Eddie is sure only he notices. “ _I need your help with something Eds- oh.   Can I call you ‘Eds’? You feel like an Eds to me_.”

Eddie bites his bottom lip to suppress a smile.   He hates how much he loves the stupid nickname. “Yeah.   You can call me ‘Eds’.”

" _Well, Eds, I need a little help in the love department.”_

Bev almost falls out of her chair. 

“Oh?” Eddie asks, feigning disinterest, his stupid heart beating hard and fast. “And uh, what do you need help with?   Specifically.”

“ _I spent the weekend with the perfect man_ ,” Richie says, and Eddie presses his lips together and stares down at the table, face on fire. “ _He’s just. Amazing. Beautiful.   Nicest person I know. He’s smart and sexy, and I just. I can’t get enough of him_.”  

Eddie licks his dry lips, keeping his eyes straight forward, not daring to glance at Bev. “Sounds intense.”

“ _Oh it is_.”

“So what’s the issue?”

“ _I’m a dumbass_ ,” Richie says, letting out a long, dramatic sigh. “ _I didn’t ask him to go out with me. Like, really go out. Be my man.   All that sappy crap_.”

“Do you, uh,” Eddie starts, clearing his throat quickly when his voice cracks. “Do you want that?”

“ _Hell yeah, I want that_.”

It takes Eddie longer to gather his thoughts so he can reply, his stomach twisting up in knots as he imagines a life with Richie.   He’s jumping the gun here, wondering how easily they would fit into each other’s lives. If their habits have remained similar enough over the years that they can fall into a rhythm again.

Eddie glances at Bev, sees her squishing her cheeks between her hands, a huge grin on her face, eyes sparkling as she stares at him adoringly. Into the microphone, Eddie says, “Maybe you should ask him.”

Richie is quick to reply. “Do you want to go to dinner with me tonight?”

Hiding his face, Eddie makes an embarrassing, desperate noise, cheeks flaming as he mumbles into his hands, the table digging into his elbows as he lets out a heavy breath. “Ohmygodohmygod-“

At Eddie’s incoherent babbling, Richie addresses Bev. “ _Hey, Beverly? Is his face all red_?”

“Like an ass spanked raw,” she answers with a laugh, and Eddie drops his head to hide in the crook of his elbow. “He’s a mess. It’s pretty cute.”

“ _I’ll bet_.”

“He’s hiding,” Bev says, patting his shoulder.   “Poor thing.”

Eddie lifts his head, deliberately ignoring Bev’s cackling, and grabs the microphone to bring it closer. “Yes, Richie. Yes.   I’ll go with you.”

“Yesssss!” Bev cheers and wraps an arm around him, and Eddie can’t force away the smile that fights its way to the surface. “Oh my god.   I’m gonna _cry_.”

“Get off, you heathen!”

“But my love-“

“ _No_ ,” Richie cuts her off. “ _He’s_ my _love_.”  

Bev gasps, swatting at Eddie as she grabs for the microphone. “Fight me, Bi-fi. I _dare_ you.”

Once Richie is off the line they go to commercial break, and Eddie’s phone starts ringing on the table. He doesn’t plan on answering it, but Bev catches sight of the screen and waves him off, screeching and flailing dramatically.  

“ _Oh my god answer it_!” She grabs Eddie’s arm as he swipes his thumb across the screen, right beneath Richie’s name. “I’m gonna pass the fuck _out_.”

“Okay okay okay-“

“Hurry!”

Eddie stands and heads out of the booth, getting a thumbs up from the producer, who is grinning from the other side of the glass.   Once he’s alone in the mostly deserted hall, he leans back against the door and brings the phone to his ear, suddenly shy. “Hi.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Richie greets him, a smile in his voice, and Eddie pictures him in the music store standing behind the counter, glasses sliding down his nose and his hair all mussed and perfect. “ _I wanted to hear your voice_.”

Eddie grins, biting his lip to smother the noise that’s threatening to come out. “You just heard it on the air.”

“ _I wanted to hear it again_.”

It’s tempting to roll his eyes, but Eddie refrains, his damn insides doing somersaults. “Weirdo.”

The warm chuckle in Eddie’s ear takes him back to the morning before, when he woke up in Richie’s arms, wrapped up tight and comfortable. Richie hummed into his hair and kissed him full on the mouth, then laughed when Eddie squawked about morning breath and needing a shower. They got under the water together, fucking slow and lazy against the slippery wall, Eddie’s chest and stomach pressed against the cold tiles while Richie slid in and out of his body in deep, full strokes. Heat curls in his stomach as he imagines doing it all again. This time in his house.

“ _Does this weirdo really get to take you out tonight_?”

The hope is clear in Richie’s tone, so Eddie gives in easily, speaking low. “Yeah.   If he wants to.”

“He wants to.”

They agree to text the details but linger on the phone, Eddie smiling and listening to Richie’s voice through the tiny speaker.   He stays out there too long, and Bev has to drag him back inside.

She takes his phone and sticks it in her bra for the rest of the show, but Eddie just laughs and relaxes, eager for the day to be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this!  
> You can come say hi on tumblr @ [reddiepop](https://reddiepop.tumblr.com/)


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